


Supply and Demand 3: Stolen

by tari_roo



Series: Supply and Demand [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Empath, Empath Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tari_roo/pseuds/tari_roo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third story in the series started by [Supply and Demand: Unwanted](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/11584.html). You may want to read that first in order for some of the AU background to make sense.

Chapter 1

 

The heavy, very solid, possibly-metal doors shuddered briefly before remaining tightly closed and Hughes let out a shout of frustration.

“Damnit! Come on!”

Durrant huffed in agreed annoyance, rolling his shoulders and trying to loosen up the growing ache and tension. “We almost had it!”

“Hardly, Hughes, but that was at least progress,” Taylor sighed, rubbing his face in exhaustion, fighting back the yawn. 

“And it’s not helping that he’s frigging fighting us every step of the way.” Durrant glared at Winchester, still on his knees, bound hands clenched in fists, chest heaving with exertion. “Moron.”

Leaning back, his hands shoved into the small of his back, Hughes laughed, “You’re just pissed that he zapped you earlier, it’s not like he has any control right now.”

“Oh, don’t be fooled, Hughes, I may be pissed, but I’m right about him fighting us. You may be too weak to feel it, but that don’t mean it’s not happening.”

Taylor stepped forward, pre-empting what would be the umpteenth argument of the day, and 2nd of the last half hour. “Levels of ability aside, gentlemen, Mr Durrant has a point. Dean is fighting the process, but this is not unexpected. We were warned that he’d be resistant and now we need to manage it. Alright?”

“No, it’s not alright, I have a killer headache, the damn constant friggin itch to connect with him and now I have to be patient with the prick! Hell, no. If’d you just let me try ...”

“Mr Durrant, we have discussed this – ad infinitum I might add, already. While a permanent connection might – and I stress might – make you strong enough to achieve our goal, two very real facts remain – and will not change no matter how many times you ask. Winchester will resist any permanent connection – it’s why he’s damn Pool ‘Path and we are under strict orders not to make a connection. Understood?”

Hughes hummed and hahhed, while Durrant glowered at Taylor, Dean kneeling between them, far from forgotten. Hughes said softly, “Well, he does have a point... just hear me out. Just accessing the empathic field is not working, Taylor. We all know that, and it may not be due to Winchester fighting us- we’re not exactly asking him for anything, just bolstering our own combined abilities.”

“True, yes.”

“And you are right, a perm connection for one of us may not suffice ... but we can’t keep bashing our heads against this door as it were... we need to try something else – think outside the box a little.”

“Exactly!” Durrant exclaimed, stepping closer to Dean, his knee bumping his shoulder, knocking him a little off balance, but then steadying the Empath with an almost absent hand to the hand.

Taylor pursed his lips, either in a combination of irritation and confusion, or genuine thought, it was difficult to tell with him. He stared at Winchester for a good long while, long enough for Durrant to throw his hands up in exasperation and Hughes to go back to stretching his aching muscles. Finally, Taylor said, “We have tried a one on one semi connection. And we tried several combinations of empathic field ‘bounces’. I think... I think we should attempt an approximation to a real connection.”

“Really?” Durrant looked ecstatic, both hands unconsciously already touching Dean’s head, roughly turning his head to the side, and in response, Winchester groaned, flexed and then _shocked_ Durrant through the physical connection. “Shit, ow, damnit.”

“Leave him... just let me...” Taylor closed his eyes and seemed to run through the vague motions of connecting, his hands mimicking whatever thoughts were running through his head. Hughes, the weakest of the trio just moved closer to Durrant and bumped into him, jokingly and said, “Looks like a demented conductor, huh?”

Durrant ignored him, focusing instead on their reluctant Empath, who was pulling against the handcuffs and chains. Durrant _pulled_ on the empathic link, demanding a response, drawing strength and power in and growled softly, “Shock me again and I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life.”

There was no verbal answer, but the hate filled glare and rise in anger in the empathic field was more than enough. 

“Right, ok – let’s try this.” Taylor clapped his hands together, face suddenly animated. Winchester stiffened and they all felt him clamp down the field as much as he could, draw it back, make it less accessible. 

“Hey!” Durrant exclaimed but Taylor it aside, “Leave it – we’re going to wipe the connection anyway.”

“What?” Hughes moaned, “Do we have to? I hate... it’s a damn pain in the neck.”

“Fresh start,” Taylor assured him and waved them off, and Durrant and Hughes backed off, leaving Winchester to Taylor.

Without giving any warning, Taylor jabbed the serviceable taser into Winchester’s back, eliciting a loud groan and the usual cold wash of _loss_ through the empathic field. The first was followed by two more, and Dean collapsed onto his side, jaw gritted and muscles shaking as he rode out the break. Durrant and Hughes were both grimacing as well, shaking their heads to clear the sensation of loss. Taylor leant down and delivered one more, brief shock to the back of Winchester’s skull and the Empath went completely boneless, unconscious.

“What? Why ...”

Taylor waved off their questions and said, “He’ll come round pretty quickly.”

And sure enough, a little more than 5 minutes later, Dean began stirring, groans and moans and gagging alerting the Kinetics. Durrant hurried over, rubbing his hands against the legs of his slacks, but Taylor beat him there and waved him away. “Not just yet.”

Placing a heavy boot on Dean’s hip, Taylor shoved him, a gentle kick and said, “Get up.” Looking up, licking his bloody lips, Winchester conveyed more than enough of ‘make me’ to have Taylor roll his eyes.

With only a little effort, Taylor _lifted_ Dean up off the floor, and held him in place until he had resettled onto his knees.    
  


“Ok,” Taylor said and Durrant and Hughes stepped up, once again forming a triangle around Winchester. Taylor, the strongest, had the best line of sight on the heavy doors, the other two flanking him. “Alright, this is what we’re gonna do and you have to do exactly as I say – follow me. No trying to take over or push past me.” The last was directed mostly at Durrant who smirked in response.

“I am going to try for a hardline connection, as it were. Instead of taping into the field or drawing in the power, I’m going to try and bypass the field entirely and go for direct control of his ability.”

“Huh?” Hughes quipped, “How on earth is that different from a perm connection?”

Taylor, the only one of three having had experience with a permanent connection, sighed and explained, “A permanent connection is like nothing you have experienced... trust me. This is still us boosting our abilities off his. A permanent connection is a mutual meeting of the minds, the empath and kinetic merging as it were. The kinetic doesn’t have to _pull_ or _demand_ power or empathic surge, he is, you are, just stronger, boosted already, as if you had always been that strong. And the empath is stronger too, able to utilise your kinetic abilities. You can feel more emotions, and if the bond is strong enough, manipulate emotion as well. A true class 1, yes?”

“Seriously?” Hughes exclaimed, “Like having two full kinetics?”

“Yes. A bonded pair are exceptionally strong and ...”

“So why are we pussyfooting around and not making our own...”

Glaring at Durrant, Taylor hissed, “Enough! Back to this.”

Reluctant agreement followed and Taylor continued, “I am going to try and break Dean’s control over his own ability, hijack it as it were. It will be the closest to a perm connection we can get with him fighting us, and believe me, he will fight. You are going to support my efforts – and that’s it. Let me use your strength...”

“Shouldn’t we...”

“Let’s try this my way and then we can get creative, alright?”

They nodded, Durrant clearly unhappy but that may have been more due to the morass of negative emotion surging out of Winchester. The Empath was not happy, at all and the steady stream of hate and fear and outright fury was almost sickening. Luckily they were well used to dealing with Winchester by now, numbed to the surges of emotion. 

“Ok, me first, you follow and just _push_. Got it.” More nods and then Taylor put his hands on Dean’s head, covering the crown, pressing down as he did so. Durrant and Hughes followed, placing their hands on Taylors, stretching fingers out for a touch of Dean’s hair. Prepared for the _shock_ , Taylor absorbed it with a flinch.

Taylor closed his eyes and visualed Dean’s empathic field like a shimmering bubble of water, shifting moving, electric to the touch. As he _pushed_ against it, the bubble hardened, Winchester resisting. There was no give, just rock hard determination to keep him out. Taylor imagined pouring thin tendrils into the wall, snaking past but Winchester just tightened his hold more, stopping each tendril.Undettered, Taylor sunk more and more tendrils, uncaring that they barely penetrated, happy to let them sit, bolstering his strength off the empathic field. He could feel the tide of anger bolstering the field, feeding through from Dean. So strong, so sweet.

Still sending tentative tendrils, Taylor _reached_ out and gathered the telekinetic strength of Durrant and Hughes, feeling a little bit of resistance from Durrant, but enough power that he didn’t fight it. Taking a deep breath, bracing himself but keeping the connection clear of any intention, Taylor struck, hard and fast, focused like a ballpin hammer, right at the centre of the cluster of tendrils. The wall shuddered, Dean surging back in response, but at the same time, Taylor sent the tendrils down, further into the field. He struck again and again, each time driving the tendrils further in. 

One last blow of the mental hammer and the wall of determination felt cracked and weak, thick tendrils of kinetic energy breaching it, pulsing with their combined ability.Opening his eyes, Taylor squinted against the bright light, and felt the heavy weight of Durrant’s hands on his, and the shaking, fighting Empath under their hands. _Holding_ everything in place, Taylor checked on his compatriots, noting that Hughes had fallen to his knees, eyes rolled back and fingers clawlike into their hands. Durrant was still standing, his face covered with sweat, visibly shaking with the effort to maintain the current of kinetic energy. Winchester’s face was hidden, obscured beneath his bowed head and their hands, but his hands and arms were iron pistons of constraint, veins and bruises in stark contrast against pale skin. 

Collecting himself, Taylor closed his eyes, the visualisation readily appearing and rather than mask his intent this time, he prepared to _strike_ again and felt Dean stiffen in response and suddenly, rather than strike, he _pulled,_ stiffened the tendrils and pulled them out and like a clump of grass dragging soil and earth with it, and the empathic field crumbled. Striking like lighting, Taylor was in, through the hole in the field’s edge and straight into the heart of Dean’s empathic centre. Taylor felt the hair on his head stand on end, vaguely heard Dean’s scream of pain and Durrant’s jolt of exultation.This was new territory and off the fly, Taylor visualised restraints, cuffs, chains, harness, whatever and wrapped kinetic restraints around the vibrating empathy, yoking it, taming it and oh boy, did Dean fight that. 

The warm trickle of blood from his nose was not entirely unexpected as he wrestled for control, and then there was the sudden disappearance of Hughes’ power. Scrambling to keep it all contained, Taylor made a snap decision, consolidated his efforts into one long chain, sinking it, burying it, driving it as deep as he could and then pulled out, dragging Durrant with him

The empathic field snapped back into place with a vengeance, the emotional backlash a nausea inducing punch to the solar plexus. Gasping a little, Taylor felt the chain he left behind shudder, shake but remain firmly in place. Opening his eyes, stepping back and away from Winchester, Taylor was assaulted by a rush of physical sensation, a blinding headache, the taste of blood in his mouth and the smell of vomit. 

Hughes was flat on his back, lost to unconsciousness, a distinct odour of urine around him and a telling wet patch on his trousers. Durrant was crouched down over his knees holding his head and rocking but the stream of emotion coming from him was elation and excitement. The steady thrum of empathic energy running through all of them would be the first such experience for Durrant and he was obviously enjoying it.

Wiping his nose, noting the stream of blood was slowing, Taylor looked down at Winchester. The guy was dry heaving, bent over his knees, a pile of vomit evidence of just how long he’d been heaving. He was shaking, drenched in sweat and visibly shaken. Pulling out a handkerchief, Taylor dropped to his own knees, and ran a comforting hand over the quaking shoulders and back. Unresisting, Dean let Taylor grab his head and turn his face towards him. Gently, Taylor wiped away the blood and tears, and finally the small traces of vomit left. 

Looking into Dean’s eyes, Taylor felt the _pull_ of the chain, the steady stream of empathic energy and the now much more diminished emotional leakage. Dean’s anger was gone, lost in the pain of the breach, fear and grief tainting the air. Taylor pulled him closer, pressing his forehead against Dean’s and sighed, “It didn’t have to be so hard, you know. Stop fighting it so much and let it be.”

There was no give however, no let up in the nagging sensation of Dean worrying at the psychic chain, already working at getting it out. But even with Hughes unconscious, Durrant and Taylor were strong enough to keep it in place, easily. “Just leave it alone,” Taylor whispered, urging Dean through the connection to stop, just stop. 

“Hey.”

Looking up, at the now standing Durrant, Taylor squinted a little at the increase of pain in his head. Durrant was smiling, his own teeth bloody. “My head is frigging killing me, but that... was awesome!”

Smiling himself, Taylor nodded, absently stroking Dean’s hair, and said, “Yeah, yeah it was.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* 

... .- ...- . / -.. . .- -. / .-- .. -. -.-. .... . ... - . .-.

John absently swatted a rather persistent Pegasus-whateverbug, wiping the remains of the black flying nuisance on his tac vest. Behind him, Rodney was flailing around, waving a windmill of desperation trying to keep a swarm of the things away from him. They were no doubt drawn to his sunscreen or something, perhaps his similarly annoying personality, because his steady, rising in volume stream of curses and complaints was far more annoying than the occasional bug that found its way to the rest of them. Teyla was idly swatting the two or three that hovered near her, while Ronon was ranging far ahead, both to escape the bugs and Rodney’s voice. 

“Arragggghhh! Sheppard, I swear, I am going to kill you slowly and insidiously without leaving a single trace of evidence if you don’t hurry up and get to the Gate faster.”

“We’re going as fast as you can, Rodney.”

The huff was ladened with disdain and McKay shoved past him, adding a deliberate shoulder jab as he stormed past, now chasing the distant figure of Ronon. Smiling at the little black cloud that streamed after him, John said softly, “Guess he can hustle when he wants to.”

Teyla whacked him in the arm, her face serious despite the small smile she fought. “John. That is hardly fair Rodney has proved many times...”

She trailed off at John’s smile, his all too knowing ‘I’m teasing you too’ grin and said instead, “Your delight in making his... and by default, our lives miserable is quite disturbing, John.”

Shrugging, John picked up the pace a bit, Rodney and Ronon building quite a lead now. “Ah, but you love me anyway...”

“Unaccountably.” 

By the time they reached the Gate, the sun overhead was a scorching ball of discomfort, the flat dusty semi-arid environs swimming in the heat and Ronon was threatening to shoot the damn bugs and McKay if Rodney got any closer.

“Knock it off, kids.” 

Ignoring him, as usual, Rodney tried to side step Ronon and get to the DHD, and Ronon calmly shoved him back.  Maybe these bug bites were affecting them all, as general short temperedness of the team was ... slightly unusual.

“Hey, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney!”

Looking up, still trying to pummel Ronon ineffectually, Rodney snarled, “What?”

“How about we go to Catastrophe for a bit? We’re not due back for another hour and we haven’t been there in a while.” And it would give them time to cool off and judge if the bug bites were affecting them... Rodney, mainly.

Scowling but more out of habit than anything, Rodney threw up his hands and said, “A few weeks you mean, I swear Sheppard, I think you build in an extra couple of hours in our missions these days just to go exploring...”

Ronon and Teyla were in agreement however, Ronon letting Rodney past and Teyla quickly saying, “Excellent idea, John.” Teyla liked poking around the ruins looking for hidden gardens and courtyards. Ronon meanwhile had found a hall filled with the remnants of weapons the time before last and was now trying to find another... he was still waiting for Archaeology and Anthro to release the huge broadsword he’d brought back last time. 

Rodney was already dialing the address for Catastrophe, or PX 057, flapping absently at the horde surrounding him. The moment the wormhole engaged and stabilised, he was off, a blur of irate scientist, leaving a disappointed cloud behind him. Following quickly, lest Rodney’s bug fans latch onto them, they stepped through the event horizon and into the cool quiet of the silent forest surrounding the Catastrophe Gate. 

“This place always reminds of the forest between worlds,,, in Magician’s Nephew.” Rodney was already looking calmer, having escaped his tormentors, fanning himself with his tablet.

“So you say every time we come, Rodney.” John said, striding off into the forest, following a long ago paved path. 

“And yet, you still haven’t read it, have you!”

McKay was right though, the forest was odd. Initially John had found it creepy, ominous. The trees were not the usual pine or American North West similarities, but were as tall as redwoods, straight and smooth like telephone poles, dark grey bark, the canopy a distant shadow overhead, barely letting any sunlight through, but the streaks and spears of sunlight which did were awash with dancing dust particles. The whole forest otherworldly, which was pretty neat given they were on another world, but was quiet and silent. That had been the initial cause for concern, quiet in a forest usually meant trouble. But there just was no life on Catastrophe – just plant life. If there were bugs they were small, birds they were invisible and silent, animals – very good at stealth. Whatever had happened on catastrophe it had been well.. catastrophic – to just about all animal life. 

Now however the forest was an oasis of calm and peace, soft and serene. It was a great place to visit and just ... be. The paved path, smooth white stones begrimed with moss and dirt ran a twisting meandering way through the forest, as if the long ago road makers had accommodated the trees rather than functionality and linear ease. 

There was the occasional patch of red flowers which had initially gotten Xeno-botany’s collective panties in a twist, as they seemed to have adapted to an absence of insect life, self pollinating by periodically growing long, questing tendrils in search of other red flower patches. The trees too had overcome the lack of bird and insect life and relied solely on wind to pollinate and spread their seeds. Whatever had happened on Catastrophe had truly happened millennia ago, in fact Archaeology was speculating that if occurred even before the Ancients arrived in Pegasus. 

The soft, white stone the majority of the ruins in the main city were constructed from refused to be dated, carbon or otherwise, and Dr Higgins in Archaeology was writing up a paper proving that the Ancients had been as fascinated by the ruined world, it being long dead before they arrived. He had gone so far as to make a wild leap in speculation that Catastrophe was the reason the Ancients had come to Pegasus in the first place, a potential 6th race, an ally perhaps against the Ori. Whatever the reason, no one had been able to find confirmatory entries in the Ancient Database, let alone evidence that the wraith had not simply wiped out another world. Occam’s Razor had the catastrophe as a victim of the Wraith. But whatever had befallen it, it was a great world to visit, de stress and explore. There truly was... no animal life on this world.

It was a good fifteen minute walk from the Gate to the edge of the forest and by the time they cleared the last of the trees and the world dropped away into a horizon of breathtaking azure, they were all a lot calmer. Particularly Rodney who was pulling up the scans and maps of the city from their previous explorations, nose buried in his tablet. Ronon reached out and grabbed the back of his vest and hauled him away from the cliff edge. 

Spluttering, Rodney looked up, paled and muttered thanks. The drop was sheer, literally. It looked like someone had taken a knife or laser to the hillside and sliced away half the world. As usual, Sheppard skirted the edge of the cliff, looking down and over to the distant sea below. The still calm waters below were wave free, and crystal clear and you could still see the remnants of the hill and collapsed land beneath the waters. 

Teyla was already leading the way to the ruined city, now crunching through the undergrowth, the path having disappeared off the cliff. Ronon hauled Rodney along, who let him, John bringing up the rear. Whether by design or by luck, a narrow staircase carved into the hill still lead down to the City. As Teyla crested the rise, the tall forest on her left, the ocean to the right, the sprawling ruined city swam into view. The city dwarfed Atlantis many times over, stretching as far as the eye could see in any direction. The city closest to the cliff was rubble, tall buildings and domes crushed beneath the falling stone. 

In the cataclysmic event the ocean had rushed in, drowning miles and miles of the city, stopping only as the natural rise of the landscape of the city arose above its new bed. Right as this point, forest behind, city ahead could you see the true impact of the cataclysm. 

Half of the city appeared to be trapped in blue liquid amber, lost beneath icy still waters, the courtyards and fountains and buildings trapped in ever deepening waters. The rest rose like prow of a wreck, whole and hale as only millennia of neglect could allow. 

Yet, even in its ruin, the City was beautiful. Gardens and courtyards were overrun with vegetation, spots of colour amidst the sprawl of white, tall buildings with elegant spires, domes that bloomed together, winding, twisting streets that opened up on breathtaking views and aspects. Whoever they had been, the people of Catastrophe had had a true eye for beauty and pleasant surroundings. 

There were no statues though, no pictures or portraits in any room or museum. The long dead inhabitants remained a mystery. A beautiful mystery with an alien feel, a door where an arch would have sufficed, a sweeping series of canals with lowered walkways that necessitated your feet getting wet, inverted domes, no visible street names, fountains that lead into homes and public places. And no matter how many times they came to visit, they always found something interesting.

Today’s something interesting was discovered a lot sooner than expected. Ronon tapped John on the shoulder, his posture already rigid and pointed. Not really paying attention, as Ronon wasn’t quite vibrating on alert just yet, Sheppard turned and immediately frowned.

A bright blue wrapper was flapping on the ground a few feet away, its label indistinct but very Earth-like. Striding over, Sheppard scooped it up, and read _Crispy M’n’Ms_. He flipped it over, noted the manufacturer name and expiry date and yelled, “Hey, Rodney, doesn’t Dr Randall have the Crispy trade locked down?”

“Sure... bastard ran out weeks ago, why?”

John waved the empty packet at Rodney who scowled, “Oh, that’s just great. We’re littering the universe now.”

Teyla frowned as well, and said, “But there has been no scheduled excursion to Catastrophe in months, John. Besides our trips, I suppose.”

All three looked at Rodney, who spluttered in denial and gasped, “Oh sure, sure, blame me. Since when do I litter... and I sure as hell would not be bringing something as valuable as M’n’Ms offworld.”

Ronon was staring out across the ruins though, eyes scanning the maze below and John bit his lip and said, “Maybe one of gate teams got careless, maybe not. Let’s keep our eyes peeled, kay?”

The descent into the city was slightly tense, everyone watching for signs of something unusual, something ... off. The smooth white steps were broad, the railing jagged broken teeth one did not want to trust. Rodney had his LSD out and was scanning constantly, eyes scanning the buildings as if he would spot signs of life before the mechanical device would. 

They reached the city floor, scrambled over the small expanse of rubble and were then swallowed up by the city, surrounded on all sides by buildings. The semblance of cover settled Sheppard’s nerves a little, but he matched Ronon’s careful stance, not dropping his guard at all. Teyla and Rodney settled into the middle of the team, hands on guns and LSD. 

Normally eerily silent bar the lap of the not too distant ocean, the city’s quiet streets gave them their first indication that they were not alone. There was a sudden _crack!_ followed by a high pitched squeal and it echoed around the streets, direction indeterminate. 

They all paused immediately, Rodney instantly tapping on the LSD and he whispered, “Nothing, either too far away or...”

Ronon replied quietly, pointing in the general direction with his gun, “Came from up near those large arenas.”

“Theatres,” Rodney argued absently.

Sheppard looked up at the sky, noting the position of the smaller of Catastrophe’s suns, the larger hotter one still on the horizon. “It’ll take a good 20 minutes to get back to the gate, let’s see what we can and bug out asap. We’ll send back a full squad, I don’t like that no one knows we’re here.”

Rodney coughed ‘your idea’ which didn’t work all that well, but John slugged him in the shoulder none the less. Teyla smiled and nodded, “I agree. Caution might well be in order.”

Ronon again, using doorways and corners as cover before broaching any gaps, eyes scanning above and beneath as they passed walkways above and opened tunnels beneath. There was another high pitched squeal, mechanical sounding, like metal in distress. Pausing, Rodney shook his head, nothing on the LSD yet.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Chapter 2

 

The dual suns overhead were hot, bright and disconcerting for those unused to offworld travel. The small campsite was abuzz with activity, scientists running experiments, setting up equipment, with former soldiers and mercenaries providing the necessary security for an alien world, no matter how isolated and dead.

But their whole reason for being on this world was the large half dome, with a heavy metal door, standing all alone in the open arena, hundreds of metres from the nearest building. And camp had been set up right next to it, the Al’kesh off the distance, even more alien looking against the cool white of the city.

Miles Augusto was ostensibly in charge of the expedition to Pegasus, the modified Al’kesh under his command, as well the mercenaries hired by the Trust. But the scientists and kinetics were ‘civilians’ as it were, contracted for a specific purpose – the giant, locked, half dome.

And Augusto was watching the three Kinetics and their kidnapped Empath from the cool shade of his large tent, comfortable in his camp chair, a cool drink in hand. His instructions were clear. Get the dome open by any means, but mostly by Kinetic means as the low level energy signature from the dome was worrying the scientists. The best way to deal with Kinetics was give them a goal and then let them lose. As a rule, Augusto found them to be proud, and arrogant and difficult and the four week trip out to Pegasus both tiresome and irritating.

But at least they had had Winchester to keep them occupied, even if it usually resulted in more arguing than anything. On that though, Augusto had followed his own orders – keep the Empath as doped up as possible. The last thing they all needed was an irate, out of control Empath messing with everyone onboard during hyperdrive. And the brief moments that he had been conscious, the Kinetics had pestered him relentlessly so he hadn’t had the time to do more than throw up and give everyone a mild headache.

Now though, after a day onworld, the Kinetics had a job to do, and Augusto had had a quiet word with Taylor, whose cool, disturbing gaze had barely flinched at the implied threats but he had smiled at the promise of keeping Winchester.

After a morning of fruitless effort, it seemed like something was finally happening.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

By the time Hughes had regained consciousness and Dean had stopped heaving, they were all feeling a lot better mentally but physically utterly drained. Taylor pulled Dean to his feet, steadying him when his feet threatened to go out from under him. Durrant was striding up and down, amped up on the empathic feed, running his hands over his short hair, arms, chest, practically bathing in the feel of Dean.

Hughes was still flat on his back, a dopey half drugged smile on his face, uncaring on his damp underwear, the picture of stoned happiness. Taylor dragged Winchester over to one of the scientist’s folding chairs and plopped him on it. He lifted a Gatorade from the cooler and brought it over, snapping it open and then holding it out to Dean. Still pretty out of it, Winchester let him tip the cool liquid into his mouth and he gulped the beverage down.

Lifting a few energy bars as well, Taylor starting munching on one, and offered the other to Dean who shook his head, obviously still nauseous. Durrant however came over, and snagged it off him, happily munching away, staring at Winchester. Durrant’s grey t-shirt was dark with sweat, his lean frame vibrating with energy.

“Feels weird, good, but weird,” he muttered, bouncing a little on his feet, cricking his neck from side to side. “Feel I like I could run a mile in a second. Hell – I might just try.”

“Take it easy, it’ll settle and then we can give the door another crack.”

“Sure, sure,” Durrant nodded, but didn’t move away, still staring Winchester, who was quietly trying to calm down, concentrating on his breathing.

Suddenly Durrant lashed out, grabbed Winchester by the throat and pulled him to his feet, and squeezed. Taylor barely thought about it but instantly responded with a kinetic blow, sending Durrant flying and leaving Dean unharmed. Gently shoving Dean back in the chair, Taylor ambled towards Durrant, easily shoving and pushing him down, keeping him on the floor.

Hughes, suddenly aware of the rise in tension, sat up, confused. Durrant snarled and fought the invisible hands keeping him pinned and growled, “Let go man! Quit it!”

“I don’t care what your control issues are, Durrant. You don’t behave like that.” Taylor stood over him, long frame casting a dark shadow of Durrant, thinner and smaller than Durrant but so much more in control than the bulkier, more physically imposing man.

“He’s been jerking us around all morning! He’s supposed to submit!” Durrant snarled, thin lips twisted in an angry line.

Taylor pressed down harder, making Durrant squirm. “Like you know anything about Empaths. The fight is half the fun – and the more fire they got, the longer they last.”

“Fine! Let me up.”

Taylor held him down for a few more moments, letting his dominance, his strength show before letting up and Durrant immediately scrambled to his feet. “Try that again, Taylor and I’ll....”

The very Darth Vader like sensation of an invisible hand closing over his throat cut Durrant off and he stammered, “Kay, kay, I’m backing off.”

Hughes was by now on his feet, a distant spot of worry on the horizon. Dean however was slumped in the chair, staring at the confrontation with interest. Taylor glared a little more at Durrant before strolling back to Winchester, taking a possessive stance, just daring Durrant to challenge him again.

Durrant however turned around and headed towards the small tent they were sharing, muttering under his breath, “Egotistical bastard, posturing like a damn little peacock...”

Hughes held up his hands in mock surrender, long hair flopping into his face when Taylor glared at him, more than satisfied not having to do anything but bask in the connection. Certain that there would be no more challenges, no threats to Dean, Taylor looked down at the Empath with something that was supposed to pass for affection, but was closer to pride.

Winchester however only looked back with weariness and disgust. He was tired, looked done in, but would probably fight anyway. Smiling, in what he considered a reassuring manner but looked far more creepy in reality, Taylor opened another Gatorade and offered it to Dean, who reluctantly accepted and then greedily slurped it down.

Fully aware that he was taking advantage and pushing any number of boundaries, Taylor couldn’t help but run his hand through Dean’s hair, relishing the feel of the connection, no matter the distant but growing anger he could feel from the guy. Dean tried to pull away, growling and grimacing, but Taylor just moved with it, and hissed, “There’s a good boy.”

That got a reaction, a short jab of kinetic energy to his midriff and spark of electricity at his hand, but it lacked any strength. “Atta, boy.”

Eventually, Taylor sat down in his own chair and relaxed, mentally continuing the taunting by pulling at the chain, pushing and strengthening it. He could feel Augusto’s disapproving glare from across the way, but Taylor was confident, even more so now with the connection surging through him. It wasn’t anything close to a permanent one, but approximated it enough that he felt amazing.

Durrant and Hughes rapidly became bored, getting used to the thrill of the connection all too quickly and were soon back, hovering near them, probably drawn by Dean’s growing agitation. Durrant was posturing, trying to recover some ground, jockeying along the connection. Hughes, lazy grin in place just let Taylor and Durrant fight for control, happy to be there.

Deeming Winchester worked up enough, and Durrant amped up and keen, Taylor stood and motioned for Hughes and Durrant to follow. They left Dean where he was, but stood close enough to feel the heat of his glare. “OK, gentlemen, let’s try this again.”

Collectively they reached out to the large metal doors, and poured their kinetic strength into the seams and edges and pushed. It was far from easy, and soon all three were sweating, straining to get the doors to move, but they could feel the give, the metal like material bending slowing, and eventually Durrant lost control and just yanked, the doors flying open, and off their hinges.

Durrant fell to his knees with a sharp cry, eyes and nose bleeding. “Idiot, you’ll give yourself an aneurysm doing that,” Taylor snarled, reeling from the aftermath of the feedback. Ignoring Taylor, Durrant groaned and held his head in his hands. 

“Well, jobs done anyway. Take him back to the tent, I’ll let the geeks know.”

Hughes nodded, and pulled Durrant to his feet, murmuring softly, probably fighting his own headache but that dopey grin was quick to return.

Winchester however was on the ground, passed out, more blood flowing from his nose. “Idiot,” Taylor cursed Durrant again and hurried over, turning Dean onto his back. As he did so, he noted the mess he was making of his wrists, the angry red raw lines beneath the metal cuffs. “Hell.”

Somewhat awkwardly, Taylor hauled Winchester back to the tent assigned to the Empath, and plopped him on his bed. Snapping the softer leather cuff attached to the bed’s leg in place on Dean’s ankle, Taylor fished out the keys to the cuffs and set to working them lose. Somehow, probably trying to force the tumblers mentally, Dean had managed to stiffen them up, or in this case, twist the simple tumblers inside the cuffs. It was why they had resorted to cuffing his hands behind his back. Given the opportunity to study the cuffs, he seemed to make better progress in mentally picking them. Finally, with a bit of a kinetic nudge, the lock sprang open. Time for a new set, again.

Dean groaned as Taylor pulled the metal rings off, his raw wrists no doubt an agony. Taylor ran an antiseptic wipe over each wrist methodically, ensuring that he cleaned every inch of broken skin. He wrapped them in gauze, tucking the ends securely in and then taping it anyway. Looking up, he met Dean’s emotional gaze, felt the weight of his regard bearing down on him. Absently, he wiped the blood off his face as well. Tossing the blood covered wipes away, Taylor sighed to himself.

It was no use asking Dean why he fought, Taylor knew exactly why. Instead he placed one wrist, the nearest in the soft medical restraint secured to the bed. With his eyes lowered to the task of buckling the strap closed, Taylor asked quietly, “Do you miss him, your kinetic?”

Leaning over Winchester, still not looking up, Taylor placed the left wrist in the strap, and buckled it in, ensuring it was snug. “I know he misses you.”

“Go to hell.”

The voice was shattered, rough and broken, but oh so clear. Dean didn’t look away either, stared at Taylor, sent as much of his poor opinion, nay, hate through the connection as he could. Huffing a little in amusement, Taylor patted him condescendingly on the cheek, before standing. “Hard work’s all done, Dean. Just fun and exploration now.”

He left the tent, heading towards his own, making a mental note to get the sergeant making dinner tonight to give Dean an extra portion, the guy was looking positively wane these days.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

\--- .-. / .... . / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -.- .. .-.. .-.. / -.-- --- ..-

Sheppard quietly sank down to his haunches, sharing a knowing look with Rodney. They were in a quiet, half broken walled garden. Part of the smooth, impossibly put together white stone had collapsed in like crushed ice. The bright green vines from the garden had covered the stones and walls in a beautiful natural lattice, bright yellow and purple flowers dotting the network. The flowers were tiny stars of colour in a sprawl of white and green and beautiful in their disarray.

But as beautiful as the garden was, its location and view on the large open area was its main draw card for his team. Even Teyla, who was usually quite taken with these picturesque spots of wild decay was more concerned with the scene unfolding in the open area.

Silence was imperative, as there were several soldiers far too close for comfort, but Ronon was keeping a careful eye on their movements, while everyone else had watched the doors fly off the large half dome.

Motioning for Rodney and Teyla to follow, and for Ronon to stay, Sheppard stepped away from their viewpoint and headed back to the archway leading into the garden. Keeping his voice low, he whispered, “We need to get back to Atlantis asap. These guys are definitely from Earth.”

“And that means the Trust,” Rodney hissed, clutching his LSD tightly like some Trust Bogeyman was going to leap out and take it.

Teyla murmured quietly, “How can you do so sure?” She looked worried, and kept on shooting glances back at the broken wall and area beyond.

Beating Rodney to the punch, John sighed, “Well the Al’kesh is the main clue, seeing how it’s a Gou’ald ship, and the soldier’s have a mix of M16s and AKs.”

Undeterred, Rodney rolled his eyes and snapped, “Oh, and the fact that three Kinetics just ripped off that door like it was paper.”

This drew Teyla’s intense gaze back to Rodney and she hissed, “Kinetics? You mean like in Fatal Connection?”

Rodney coloured while John smiled broadly. “Ah, yeah?”

Unfazed, Teyla continued, “I thought they were stories... like Superman and Jaws? Fiction.”

John shrugged, leaning against the wall behind him, twisting to watch the perimeter, “Not really. I’m sure we had this conversation...”

Nodding, face returning to a normal shade of red, Rodney murmured, “Yeah about Dr. Bishop and his experiments.”

Pursing her lips, looking slightly annoyed, Teyla sighed, waving a hand in the air, “Perhaps but it is easy to get your history and pop culture confused, Rodney. It is very similar.”

“Well.” John began but Teyla continued on regardless, “And you do not always bother to explain.”

Acknowledging that, Sheppard smiled, “Sorry.”

Rodney, less apologetic and more irritated, huffed, “Doesn’t change the fact that we have Trust issues.”

“No pun intended, Rodney?” John beamed, delighted that Rodney had walked right into that one.

Going red again, Rodney chuffed, “Oh, har har.”

Ronon signalled that someone was approaching and they each sank down, and watched the LSD in Rodney’s hands cautiously. Two guards on patrol walked past the hole leading to the garden and the moment they were out of sight, Ronon stood.

“Let’s go. We need to get to the Gate.”

Teyla, who looked like she still had questions, nodded sharply and lead the way out of the enclosed space, through the small archway.

She set a gruelling pace for them for a good few minutes, ducking and dodging through narrow, twisty streets and over broad avenues that dwarfed and swallowed you. The former ‘peace’ of the dead city was now eerie and oppressive, the knowledge of intruders dampening the mood.

The soft jingle of equipment on tac vest and the dull thud of boots on dull and dusty stone was the only sound to be heard, bar the occasional huff of breath. Between Ronon and John, they took turns watching the rear, slowly scanning the dark shadows and then catching up, trusting Teyla to lead them right. A good ten minutes later, Teyla turned a corner and as the others followed, they stepped out in the wide open space.

“Crap, we’ve gone too far south,” John moaned, recognising where they were. Teyla nodded, “I fear so. I am sorry, I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

Sheppard shrugged it off, and smiled, “Don’t worry, we know where we are. Let’s head out.”

“Can we… uhm,” Rodney sighed, his face red and chest heaving. He was drenched in sweat and looked beat. All three of his team mates looked at him and if anything he went redder.

“What happened to getting fit, McKay? We’ve been back in Pegasus for months… you were supposed to…” Sheppard started to say.

“Yeah, yeah, I was meaning to, but I didn’t ok, so can we take 5?” Rodney groused, now beet red and indignant, but keeping his temper.

Ronon looked a little miffed, but amused at the same time, while Teyla happily sat down on an overturned stone, and pulled out her canteen. John did the same, shuffling next to her and Ronon was the only one who chose to lean against the wall instead, partly in the shade. Rodney elected to sit on the ground, legs stretched out and he motioned for John’s canteen.

“Where’s yours, McKay?”

“Finished it already.”

“Rodney!”

Unrepentant, McKay waggled his hand for the canteen, and said, “Whose idea was it come here again?”

With a sigh, John handed over his canteen and let Rodney finish it. Teyla leant back, carefully tucking her canteen away, despite Rodney’s longing look. She still seemed to be contemplating something and eventually John asked, “Teyla?”

Teyla scanned the wide open area and the strange patterned design on the ground. From above, the irregular open space had an eye pleasing pattern tiled in blue stone and when standing in the plaza, it felt like you were in the middle of a design you couldn’t quite grasp, and you could spend hours tracing all the lines and swirls. If its purpose had been purely aesthetic or perhaps religious or cultural, it was difficult to be definitive. Whatever its purpose, at midday the temperature in the plaza was approaching unpleasant, the heat bouncing off the white walls and all but the nearest blue patterned stones lost in a haze.

Rodney was tapping away on his tablet, taking full advantage of the break, so John nudged Teyla again, and she said, “Those men, the Kinetics… are you certain that they are from Earth? Surely there must be other races with abilities?”

John pursed his lips and hmmmed, ”True, but its more the combination of all three factors, the ship, the guns and them.”

“And the fact that our luck sucks,” Rodney said into his tablet, to which Ronon laughed softly.

Sheppard continued, “Luck aside, we need to get back to Atlantis. Tell them what’s what. Maybe send word to the SGC.”

Rodney nodded vigorously, ”Yes, before those morons get inside that dome.”

Teyla look at Rodney, expecting further explanation and John said, “Weren’t you and Zelenka all excited about that dome?”

Frowning at their apparent lack of recall of things important to him, Rodney nodded again, “Yes. It was emitting a very odd energy signature, one we couldn’t quite get a read on. But something vaguely similar to our shield.”

“And?”

“We were defeated by the large, impossible to open doors!” Rodney scowled, glaring at John like he was responsible for that, or least involved the conspiracy to keep McKay from finding interesting things.

Nonplussed, Sheppard laughed, “You, Rodney, defeated?”

“Why in the hell do you think I keep on agreeing to come back here?” McKay squawked, waving his tablet in the air.

John laughed, “Your Indiana Jones delusions?”

“I’m ignoring that. No, it’s because I keep on hoping that I’ll figure out how to open that door. I run a different diagnostic each time we come. “

“And?” John prodded Rodney’s boot, making his friend scowl some more.

Ignoring the nudge, Rodney rolled his eyes dramatically, “And so far I haven’t had three freaks along to rip the doors off for me! And we didn’t want to risk explosives with an unknown energy inside. At least not do so and live to see our curiosity satisfied. It was mostly Zelenka who chickened out though.”

Shaking his head, recalling the debate from last year, no the year before, Sheppard said, “No, I remember vetoing that and you yelling at me. A lot.” And then backing the conversation up a little he said, “I assume you wrote a nice, detailed report on the dome, its locked door and potential wonders inside?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? Some of us actually do our paperwork you know.” Teyla was watching them with a long suffering smile, intent on the conversation.

Winking at her, John asked, “And sent it off to the SGC?”

“Of course I... oh....” The proverbial penny dropped and Rodney’s face crumpled into outraged dismay and he grumbled, “Still haven’t plugged all those leaks, huh?”

Sheppard nodded, “So it appears.”

“So what is inside the dome?” Teyla asked.

Rodney stared at Teyla, whose cool gaze refused to be intimidated by his ‘did I not just say’ expression. The lines on his face deepening, Rodney got a little loud with, “Well we could walk back to those strong as all hell freaks and ask them to let us have a gander inside!”

“There is no need to be curt, Rodney. And why do you call them freaks?” Rodney blinked at the two part rejoinder, opened his mouth, closed it and then frowned.

“Because he has the sensitivity of a brick, Teyla. Any educated guesses?”

Rodney pasted on a put-upon expression, like he was dealing with idiots, so it was a fairly common look on his face. “Well it had the hallmarks of a shield, so we are probably looking at something shielded. We couldn’t scan the shield through the door, so who knows what is on the other side.”

“Nothing good though,” John sighed, looking up at Ronon who gave him a ‘hurry up already’ gesture with his hand. A not entirely polite gesture.

Rodney seemed to get the hint as well and said, again too loudly, “No, probably not since its shielded so let’s go get some reinforcements.”

John straightened and Rodney prepared to get up, but Teyla held up her hand and said, ”Sorry, but you did not really answer my question, Rodney. Why did you call them freaks? And John, why are there none of them on Atlantis? Would a Telekinetic not be useful?”

Keen to get moving, John murmured quietly to her, “We’ll explain the details of the Bishop experiments later but short answer to the other is, ‘cos they are really, really rare and there’s not a lot of them on Earth.”

Standing now Rodney ho hummed and said, “And only people that they think are expendable get sent to Pegasus, which still doesn’t explain why I am here, other than my brilliance.”

John reached down to help Teyla up, which she accepted with good grace as she said, “Pardon?”

Dusting himself off, John said, “They are too valuable to waste on us.”

“Oh, but the Trust...” Teyla began.

“Figured out how to open a door without blowing it up,” John finished for her. Ronon straightened as well and Rodney added his two cents, “And they have the resources to hire or blackmail three kinetics.”

“And the man in restraints?” Rodney looked up from his tablet and answered, “Their Empath I guess?”

Teyla looked confused, “I thought Empaths were women?”

“Only on TV.”

Teyla was smiling broadly, no doubt about to tease Rodney some more, as a bolt of purple energy hit her. As she fell with a grimace, Sheppard reached out and caught her on the downward motion.

“Wha?” Rodney turned, and a second bolt struck him and Ronon both pulled him to cover and caught him, and followed John in the narrow passage they had emerged from. “Shooters, on the roof.”

“Damn, you got him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go, now.” John settled Teyla into his arms, and set off, hoping to lose the mercenaries in the tight narrow streets. Ronon followed close, Rodney drapped over his shoulder and Sheppard immediately ducked into a side street, twisting to keep Teyla’s head from hitting the walls. The dim gloom of the streets was a relief from the sun and watchful eyes, but there were sounds of pursuit. A bitten off shout, distant calls and heavy boots above them.

The buildings were close enough that the Trust mercenaries could chase them on the roof tops above, the occasional flat roof and slight domes not impassable. But John knew the city a little more, and he ran towards a section of the city with interlacing streets, where the pathway dipped into tunnels and under bridges.

But his arms and legs were already beginning to burn with the effort of running and carrying Teyla, and he knew they would not be able to out run the mercenaries. They had to lose them, it was going to be too close otherwise.

And close it was. A sharp crack of energy weapon fire and the stones above Ronon’s head exploded, showering them both with dust. “Go go go,” Ronon grunted. John picked the pace up, hefting Teyla a little, blinking sweat out of his eyes. So much for a quiet trip to Catastrophe. And no, the irony was not lost on him.

John heard the pounding footsteps, running towards them even as Ronon growled, “Flanking us, go right!”

This time it was the report of gunfire and bullets that shattered the stone near them, but John dug in and ran on, but there was movement on all sides and above. He kept on getting the occasional glimpse of camo and running figures, but reckoned it was only about six men after them. Six men too many.

“They’re trying to box us in,” Ronon snarled, his gun pressed perilously close to Rodney’s buttocks, as he steadied his heavier burden. Ronon was also drenched in sweat but could probably make it. But not with Rodney.

John suddenly ducked inside a building, and ran down the spiral staircase to the cooler tunnels beneath. It was risky, easy to get trapped but he pushed on, legs screaming at him. Ronon’s heavy breathing echoed with his in the close tunnel as they thundered along.

When the bright spot of daylight become a giant hole, John closed his eyes as he ran out and took an immediate left. The streets were no longer narrow and close, but broader and wider, tall buildings with oddly curved balconies and sudden windows. Ducking into an alcove, John put Teyla down gently and Ronon did the same.

It took him a moment to catch his breath, back pressed against the cool wall. “Won’t take them long to find us, but... if you go now, you’ll probably make the Gate before them.”

“I’m not leaving you, Sheppard.”

John nodded, and wiped his face, shaking off the sweat. “Yeah, you are. We stick together, they’ll catch us for sure. So.... go. Now. Get Lorne and shitload of Marines.”

Ronon looked ready to rip something, like John, in half, but already they could hear voices in the tunnel. “Go, I can hold them off for a bit. We’re just slowing you down.”

Growling in disagreement, Ronon slapped John way too hard on the arm and said, “Don’t do anything stupid.” And then he took off, running like the wind.

Sheppard grinned, wished he still had a full canteen and sighed, “But stupid works so well for me.”

Pulling free his P-90, he checked the clip and stepped out long enough to send a spray of bullets into the tunnel. Shouts and exclamations echoed back at him, and John sent another scattering of bullets through.

“Run, Ronon, run.”

Counting in his head, knowing he had to give Ronon as much of a lead as possible, Sheppard wasted enough ammunition to keep the men at bay. But they’d figure out a path to flank him in no time, and well, he didn’t have endless ammunition.

The sound of a boot crunching soft dust was his only warning and John whirled behind cover just in time, the zat blast snaking across the stone he’d been leaning against. The cat footed mercenary had used the noise of his covering fire to sneak up close and it’d only been 7 minutes, maybe 10 since Ronon had left. Damn.

Figuring he wouldn’t be alone, John pulled Teyla and Rodney’s P-90s closer to hand and stuck his almost empty weapon around the corner and fired blind. There was no answering fire, not even from the tunnel, and John wondered if it would be worth the break in attention to find the LSD.

In the end, there wasn’t, as more zat fire drove him deeper into the alcove, and Sheppard fired in that general direction, well aware that they were surrounding him. Picking up Teyla’s P-90, he fired both weapons, grateful for the relatively soft trigger that allowed this. There was no accuracy, just bravado right now.

An answering hail of zat fire sent him to his knees and for a wild moment he thought one had hit Rodney. Two shots meant dead right? Ignoring the risk, he scrambled to check his friend’s pulse and felt a thready but strong answer.

More footfalls and John readied himself, knowing that time was up.

As two men rounded the corner, guns up and poised to fire, John was standing over his friends, two P-90s locked on his attackers. The quarters were too tight to risk live rounds, and John couldn’t risk another zat blast hitting Rodney or Teyla.

“Drop them, now!”

Dragging out the moment, John did that, slowly bending and laying the guns on the ground, hearing his knees creak as he did so.

“On your knees! Hands on your head,”

As John sank all the way down to his knees and put his hands on his head, the two men stepped fully out of cover, their zats pointed straight at his head. The first tapped his shoulder radio and said, “You got sight of the fourth?”

John didn’t even try and pretend not to listen for the response, but the answering crackle was indecipherable even for him after years of military jargon over poor comm lines. “Say again, 5?”

He was half a quip away from opening his mouth, but the two men looming over him didn’t seem the type to appreciate a little wit at their expense.

“Are you 1 or 2? You don’t really look like a 1, maybe a 3.”

Not that that had ever stopped John before. 1 or 2 shoved him with the butt of his rifle, and growled, “Shut up.”

The man with the radio was still trying to decipher the response, and eventually got enough of an answer to make him whirl on John and demand, “Where is he? Is he heading for the Gate?”

“Who?”

The rifle butt to the stomach was partially blocked by his tac vest but Sheppard grunted in pain none the less.

“Call him back!”

“Who?”

One of the men stepped forward and pointed a zat at Teyla and screamed, “Answer him, now!”

“Haven’t got a clue who you are talking about,” John said quietly, watching the zat with detached calm.

The blows were short, sharp and professional and left Sheppard reeling, head and stomach aching fiercely, caught off guard at the sudden attack. Those zats were damn hard!

A radio comm. in paused the interrogation and one of them snapped a “Yes, sir” and then snarled, “Up, we’re off to the see the wizard.”

Rodney was unceremoniously hauled upright, once they had disarmed Sheppard and secured his hands behind his back. Teyla was somewhat gently totted off in a fireman’s hold, while a fourth man arrived to help drag Rodney. This left John with the grumpy one who had hit with him with the zat.

John couldn’t help saying, “Does that make you a flying monkey then?”

The man just smirked and shoved John some more. “Yeah, and you the scarecrow.”

TBC in Chapter 3


	3. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 3/? (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 3/? (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

 

Chapter 3

The grass of Catastrophe was oddly spongy and soft, still green and grass like but not the usual. So it made for nice padding for his knees as he knelt in the bright sunlight from two small suns. The small balding man had taken one look at Sheppard towering over him and motioned for the mercenary.

A stiff jab at his legs and Sheppard had obliged by dropping to his knees, swallowing the groan as he did so.

“Colonel Sheppard. What are you doing here?”

Sheppard smiled, squinting a little in the overhead sunlight. “Now that’s hardly fair. You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

The little man smiled in return and wiped his brow, mopping up a few beads of sweat. “What’s fair got to do with anything. My prisoner, my questions. What are you doing here?”

John shook his head, “No, really the much more pressing question is, what in the hell are you doing here?” 

The mercenary behind him shoved the muzzle of his AK into John’s back and the little guy laughed, ”I won’t ask again, Colonel.”

A stiff little breeze stirred the long grass, the cloudless sky an unrelenting blue. Ignoring the muzzle digging into his shoulder Sheppard persisted, “I’m serious. We are supposed to be here.... this being Pegasus and all. You, not so much.”

The punch was swift and brutal, right on his jaw and its growing collection of bruises and John fell forward a little, before catching himself. Moving his jaw, hoping a tooth hadn’t been knocked loose and wincing at the collective ache, Sheppard snapped up at the mercenary, “Nice one. Makes talking all the more easier.“

“What are you doing here, or should I start on your friends?” The little guy was scanning the area, not really looking at John, or the unconscious forms of Teyla and Rodney at his feet. The City had been quiet, abandoned stillness. The camp though was bustle in motion and discordant with the normal atmosphere of Catastrophe, all the markers of an invasion. 

“We’re doing our job, moron. Exploring Pegasus.” 

Hmmming to himself, pulling out his little handkerchief again, the man mused, “This world was cleared already, closed, finished, done with. No more visits.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you know that?” John asked, peering up at the man, feeling a trickle of sweat seep down his back. The next punch was twice as hard and John bit his tongue with the force of it. Spitting out blood, really, really tired of being in this position for the umpteenth time, he sighed, “No really, how do you know this world is ‘closed’? Because I sure as hell didn’t ‘close’ it.”

The third punch was a little off, as Sheppard caught the movement in time and managed to pull back so it glanced more than hit but still the left side of his face was screaming at him, a headache blossoming. Between the questioning out in the city and now, he was going to a walking bruise. The mercenary snarled and was about to hit him again, when the little man held up his hand.

Obedient, the mercenary glared menacingly at Sheppard but living with Ronon and facing off with Wraith kinda made any other attempts at looking scary laughable, so Sheppard rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, Colonel. Different question then. Where is Ronon?”

“Who?”

The next punch spilt his lip.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Taylor shoved on a pair of sunglasses as he stepped out of the tent he was sharing with Durrant and Hughes. It was a little cramped even if the tent was a luxury, old style safari type, with a high roof and head height door, but since none of them could agree as to who would share a tent with Dean first, let alone any roster system thereafter, all three Kinetics were in one tent and Dean got his own. And it was probably for the best anyway to give their little Empath some space and private time. 

Dean was asleep, his slumber restless and light and as Taylor looked over at the canvas tent, he could see why. Durrant was hovering near the open doorway, peering in but not yet brave enough to venture inside. His agitation though was enough to disturb the Empath and alert the other Kinetics. 

Well, Taylor at least.

Hughes was on his back, staring up at the suns, absently wiping his still bleeding nose. He was levitating a smattering of objects in the air. Keys, stones, leaves, a bullet and they all moved in a swirl of concentric intersecting circles. It looked, peaceful.

Durrant though was far from peaceful, his agitation clear both physically and _mentally._ Shoving his hands into his pockets, Taylor strolled towards Durrant, running a careful eye on his surroundings. He’d heard and felt the rise in emotion in the camp. Augusto was a hotspot of anxiety and the mercenaries and scientists were all projecting increased nerves and worry.

Actually, perhaps that was why both Dean and Durrant were restless. Winchester was picking up on the rise in emotion and Durrant was probably so far out of touch with human emotion that the feedback from the connection was rattling his view of the world.

The trickle of ambient emotion from the expedition was new enough to Taylor that he’d acknowledge little, if any, control over it. The odd wave of fear or worry was disconcerting, but hardly an issue. Hughes seemed ok. And judging by the steady beat of derision and laconic disdain coming from the black glad SGC officer on his knees, they were not in any immediate danger. Maybe he should walk over and reassure Augusto, give him unfair insight into the situation.

Glancing at Durrant, who was bristling at his approach pissed off that his hovering had been spoiled, Taylor elected to deal with him first, before assisting Augusto. Closing the distance between them, Taylor smiled stiffly, keeping his emotional feedback minimal and locked down, or at least he hoped he was. Durrant was trying to do the same, and failing.

“Why are you hovering like a preschooler in need of a pee, Durrant?”

“What’s it to you if I am?” Arrogance underscored by real fear. 

“You’re disturbing Winchester.”

Durrant sneered, “So what if I am, it’s not like he’s....”

“Exhausted? Stressed? Under duress?”

On the surface, Durrant remained unmoved, but there was a sliver of shame he couldn’t quite curtail. “So? Like you care.”

Taylor smiled, trying out a little projection, seeing if he could manipulate emotion to a degree, ”I do. The circumstances might not be ideal for a meaningful connection but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings.”

Instinctively Durrant batted the attempt away, his sneer deepening into hate, “Pull the other one, Taylor. You’re practically salivating over the chance at having your very own Empath, screw his feelings. You forget, I can _feel_ you too.”

Abandoning his efforts, dropping the pretence, for now, Taylor _jabbed_ at Durrant knocking him back a few steps. “Then stay the hell away from him.”

“He’s not yours! Not yet!”

The ‘not ever’ was implied body and soul from Durrant but he was smart enough to back off, to stop _worrying_ the chain, and save his challenge for another time. They both felt Dean slip into a deeper sleep, as their combined truce shielded him from the ambient emotion and their own quarrel.

Hughes was watching them from his spot on the soft grass, more curious than anything. If it came to a show down, he remained an unknown. It was entirely possible that he would side with whoever was likely to allow him a share of the connection or to strike when they were both weak, and throw his hand in to keep Dean for himself.

Durrant smiled sweetly at Taylor and ambled off, heading towards Hughes, not bothering to mask his intention. Taylor though kept his emotions in check, confident in his ability to win the prize. He shot a quick look in at Dean, and resisted the urge to go in. Instead, he deliberately ignored Durrant who was now teasing Hughes, knocking the makeshift mobile out of kilter, and made his way over to Augusto whose anxiety was climbing. 

Miles was sweating, both due to the heat and the situation. The arrival of an SGC team was troublesome, especially as this world was supposed to be off limits. The big question was why, why were they here? But the important question was how long until they were missed. Nikolai, the brute, was enjoying the interrogation, his delight at striking an officer over and over again visible for even a non Empath to see. The big mercenary had issues with authority, which was why his military career had ended in dishonourable discharge and his dislike of Military Brass monumental. His loyalty to Augusto was paid for in money and the opportunity to stick it to the Man – with his fist. 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

Augusto whirled on him, upset at the interruption and implied slight on his control of the situation, and Nikolai frowned, his fist bloody. The SGC Officer was looking a little lopsided, favouring his side closest to Nikolai, the left side of his face a mess, blood trailing down his chin. 

Mouth open, a tangible tone of ire emanating from him, Miles stared at Taylor and abruptly his demeanour changed. Taylor smirked, as Miles ‘caught on’ and some of his anxiety dropped. “Perhaps you can.”

The SGC man peered at Taylor through one eye, careful and considering. Taylor _nudged_ him gently, making him wobble a bit and watched for the usual reaction, and although surprised at the invisible nudge, the man didn’t really react. Miles grinned and said loudly, “Let’s try again, Colonel. Why are you here?”

The Colonel’s gaze did not move from Taylor, a deeply considering gaze, as he said, “We felt like a walk.”

Nikolai was swift and efficient and the spray of blood reached the two other restrained SGC personnel, dotting their skin and clothes. Spitting out a long bloody trail, the Colonel rolled his eye, and said, “Still with excellent motivational techniques. Real winner.”

Augusto shot a look at Taylor before saying, “How long before you are due back, Colonel?”

“3 hours ago.”

Miles stayed Nikolai, who pouted, and looked at Taylor. New to reading emotion, aware that what he was feeling was paltry compared to an Empath’s level, but reluctant to lose face, Taylor tilted his head and said, “It’s difficult to say. He’s pretty laid back. Not really stressed. But perhaps you’d have better luck from his companions. They’re both awake.”

The spike of fear from the Colonel was brief, swallowed by the rising wave of anxiety from the balding man on the ground, whose eyes were still firmly closed. Before Nikolai could move, Taylor _lifted_ the man and woman up onto their knees, both abandoning their pretence at unconsciousness. The woman was a strange pool of quiet, next to the rising torrent of emotion from the man next to her. Wondering how he had missed that maelstrom of emotion earlier, Taylor said slyly to Miles, “I think you’ll have better luck with Mr Science over there.”

Miles was oozing delight, malicious pleasure, looking more at the Colonel than the spluttering scientist. To his credit, the scientist was trying to control his fear, putting on not just a brave face but also holding onto his emotions. It was difficult to pick out individual emotions from him, the shifting tides of determined calm and terror disorienting for Taylor.

“Well, Colonel. Perhaps my associate is correct, perhaps Dr McKay will be more forthcoming.”

The spike of deadly resolve was unexpected, as the Colonel drawled, “Again, how is it that you know who we are? You got cheat sheets lying around somewhere?”

Neither Taylor or Miles stopped Nikolai this time, and his kick sent the Colonel forward onto his knees, groaning. Taylor got a glimpse of bound hands and red skin, and had a flash of memory, an image of Dean’s hands fisted in handcuffs, swirling anger coursing through him and a desperate need to get away. Blinking at the rush of memory, Taylor stepped back, shaking his head, tasting blood. “Taylor?”

Waving Augusto aside, Taylor stood up firm, wiped his nose and nodded. Looking concerned, Miles took a moment, before turning to the SGC people and said, “How long until you are missed, Dr McKay?”

McKay radiated terrified bravado, “3 hours ago.”

“He’s lying,” Taylor supplied but you didn’t need an Empath to pick that up. Nikolai, ever poised for action moved swiftly, but Taylor was still feeling a little shaken by his slip, so he stopped Nikolai with a firm _yank_ on his vest. _Reaching out_ , Taylor _grabbed_ McKay by the throat and smiled, “Being a geek, I assume you are a fan of Star Wars, Dr McKay. Ever wondered what this felt like?”

Clutching at his throat, fighting the invisible fingers, his own bright red from the effort and the plastic tie around his hands, McKay shook his head furiously, gasping. The woman was staring at McKay and Taylor, her centre of calm unmoved but her expression deeply troubled, worried as McKay turned red. 

“Stop. I will tell you.”

Taylor held on for a moment more, before letting go. McKay gasped loudly, dragging in shuddering breathes. Miles smiled beatifically at the woman, “Well, Miss Emmagen? How long?”

Watching McKay shake his head, the Colonel still slumped over his aching side, the woman, Emmagen turned to Miles stiffly, “Dr McKay wished to run a diagnostic on the shield. We are due back in an hour.”

Everyone looked at Taylor and he felt a jab of irritation. He snapped, “I can’t tell. She’s... weirdly calm.”

But perhaps Miles wanted to believe no matter what, because he smiled, “Close enough. If it’s an hour, then it’ll be 3 before they try dial in and 5 before a rescue squad is sent. And if it’s longer ... all the better.”

Only McKay radiated deep unease but his swirl of emotion was difficult to isolate on a cause. Nikolai though reeked of disappointment, and desire to keep on hitting. Augusto preened a little and bounced on his heels, “The better question is now, do we kill you or keep you as collateral?”

McKay’s head snapped up and he gasped, “Kill us? What? Why?”

“Secret mission, Dr McKay. And you’re supposed to be a genius.”

The Colonel laughed though, a wet sound, “Relax, McKay. They’re not going to kill us.” He sat up, careful of his ribs, his only open eye glaring at Augusto, “When you are a long way from home, you don’t kill potential hostages.”

Miles smirked, “Perhaps, Colonel, perhaps. But we don’t need all of you.”

“And there’s the other one, the big hairy one,” Nikolai grunted, nudging the Colonel with his foot. Miles shrugged, “We’ve got the Gate covered, he’s not going anywhere.” 

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Rodney was just about to launch a scathing retort in response to the genius crack, when a spindly young man with bulging eyes ran forward. He was followed by another man, who may have been considered handsome had McKay the inclination to note that. But since he didn’t, Rodney scowled at the interruption then realised it might stand in their favour if their captors were distracted. 

Shutting his mouth with a snap, McKay shot a glance at Sheppard, the sharp ache in his stomach growing as he took in the state of his face. John quirked a Kirk-like eyebrow of ‘What can you do?’ to which both Rodney and Teyla rolled their eyes. At least McKay had support for his ‘John Sheppard is a self sacrificing masochist’ theory in Teyla.

“Sir, if this is Dr McKay, then perhaps he can assist us?”

If? If? Perhaps he could assist? As if there was any doubt as to his identity and prowess in the fields of scientific endeavour... Oh wait, perhaps his renowned prowess wasn’t going to be a good thing. Schooling his face, Rodney tried on his most disdainful expression and resolved to be of no assistance whatsoever. Ronon, the great lummox, needed as much time as possible to get help.

The short guy in charge seemed annoyed at the interruption, but it was the cold eyed Kinetic that really worried Rodney. His Darth Vader impression was far too realistic. And his gaze had not shifted off them. “What? Why?”

The googly eyed kid stammered, nervously clutching a tablet similar the ones the SGC gave out, “Uhm, well, we weren’t expecting, exactly, an Ancient device. This world was supposed to be... non Ancient.” Unable to prevent his interest being peaked, Rodney sat up, or knelt up a little straighter at the mention of an Ancient device. It must have been behind the door.

The taller, more smooth, scientist clarified, “There is a shield, Mr Augusto, as suspected. It however is an Ancient shield.” 

Hah! Zelenka owed him a week of deserts! That energy signature had been so familiar it had to be Ancient in origin. 

Mr Augusto glared, perhaps at the use of his name or the inconvenient news. “And? Surely you can handle a simple Ancient shield?”

Skinny nodded, and Handsome smiled. “Yes, yes, sir. We can... er could... but the translation algorithm is providing... er... confusing or rather conflicting readings?”

Hah! Double Hah! They were probably using a stolen version of Bill Lee’s ridiculous mock up of Atlantis’s algorithm. When you had Daniel Jackson, apparently the SGC didn’t need coherent translations from a machine! 

Augusto glared, and as Rodney had learnt through sad experience, that did little to change disappointing results from hapless minions other than the satisfaction of making them squirm. However, no matter how much Teyla’s deception might lead them to think that they had time, they didn’t really, so the little man shot back, “Fine. Take him. Nikolai, get Jones and bring Sheppard and Ms Emmagan along as well – for incentive.”

Taylor was the one however to _drag_ Rodney to his feet, and it was a truly disturbing feeling of being manhandled by invisible hands, and frog marched towards scientific discovery. “Hey, watch the ... whatever. No need to shove.”

To be honest, Rodney was delighted at the prospect of seeing what was inside the building, and didn’t need all that much ‘dragging’. The onerous metal door lay off to one side, and the inner depths of the building were in darkness, none of the ambient daylight penetrating. 

As Rodney, and probably Sheppard approached a few lights inside the dome activated. A panel that looked out of place with the general décor and style of the building was stuck on the inside wall and it too lit up at their approach.

Definitely Ancient.

Rodney reached the panel and tapped a menu button. Nothing else though in the large structure responded, the cheery blue glow of Ancient ‘camp lamps’ providing the only light. There was a faint buzz though and with the lights inside the room, the faint sheen of a barrier could be seen. The shield encompassed the whole room, not just the doorway and that was fairly easy to determine both from the Ancient Panel and visually. 

But he said it anyway, if only to validate his superiority over the Trust Scientists. “The shield is covering the whole structure, not just keeping us out but probably something in.”

Goggly Eyes pressed into Rodney to peer at the panel as McKay tapped on the various menus and read through the various specifications and information dumps. Handsome hung back near Augusto, looking a little nervous. Knowing he was going too fast for the kid, let alone a faulty algorithm on his tablet, McKay couldn’t help preening to himself. But as the information flying past began to sink in, he slowed down and concentrated, feeling a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

“Holy Crap!”

The kid, who probably should have stuck out whatever grad programme they had grabbed him out of, shoved McKay aside enough to read himself. Augusto snapped sharply, “What, Dr McKay?” Straightening, flexing his fingers because damn the plastic tie was tight and made manipulating anything tough, Rodney put on his ‘serious news’ face, the one reversed for ‘disappointing but what can you do’ information. 

“This building is a research lab. Weapons research lab.” Belatedly, Rodney realised he maybe should have left the ‘weapons’ part out as Augusto and the Kinetic’s expressions were … worrying. Pressing on, now certain he’d have to lay on the warnings thick and fast, McKay snapped, “The Ancients found this world as we did.” Emphasis on the ‘we’ not ‘you’, Rodney added silently.

“But the accident that had caused this – total destruction of life was still active. The entire planet was covered in an unknown radiation and they had to use shields and protective suits to trace it to here.”

“And then they placed this shield over the source and left!” The kid was beaming, pointing at the panel, as if to say ‘see I can read too’. 

Waving that aside, Rodney nodded, “They waited a few years… probably thousands, before coming back and finally getting around to study what had happened. By then the plant life had really got out of control, recovered remarkably, but otherwise… it remained a dead world.“

The invisible jab was hard, and Rodney let out a surprised grunt. “This isn’t story time, Doctor. Speed it up.” The Kinetic was looking… well, it was difficult to tell what he was thinking other than mass dismemberment, so McKay nodded.

“The people of this world were apparently working on a weapon that used targeted radiation. Who they were fighting and why and what not is probably in there but in the spirit of ‘moving along’ and avoiding bruises,” Rodney shot a pointed look at no one in particular. “And then Chernobyl. On a global scale.”

“An accident? That wiped out the entire planet?” Augusto drawled.

“Yes.”

“And it killed everyone instantly?” the little bald man was looking too excited for Rodney’s comfort but the answer was hardly pleasant either way.

“Pretty much. Not slow radiation sickness or a blast wave…”

The kid interrupted, “More like fatal exposure fast tracked, sir.”

Risking a quick look at Sheppard and Teyla, Rodney let the kid continue. Sheppard was kneeling stiffly a good distance away, with Teyla beside him. They could probably hear everything and their oversized guards were certainly paying more attention to the conversation than their prisoners. But John’s head shake was minute. Not the time. Let it play out. Give Ronon as long as possible. McKay blinked, certain John would get it.

“So how do we take the shield down?”

Whirling, wincing at the pull of a bruise, Rodney squeaked, “Say what now?”

Augusto was looking at the young scientist and his colleague, both of whom looked as stunned as Rodney felt.

“Down, sir? Why?”

Placing his hands behind his back, radiating pompous authority, the egg head purred, “We are here to explore, gentlemen and locate items, devices and technology that can protect Earth. We need this weapon technology.”

Naturally Rodney was first off the mark, “Are you completely insane? It wiped out an entire planet… in seconds!”

Augusto smiled, delighted at the information, “Seconds? Fascinating, Dr McKay.”

Still beating the moronic scientists who agreed to work for twisted and evil organisations, McKay yelled, “An entire planet! The Ancients couldn’t figure out how to turn the damn thing off and you want us to just lower the shied…. And die? You unmitigated ignorant moron!”

The unseen shove was hard and Augusto’s smile sharp, “I urge you to remember your situation, Dr McKay?”

“What, about to die? Yes, I well aware of that and frankly, I’d prefer a bullet to death by unknown radiation!”

Handsome, ‘I probably slept my way through grad school’ said slowly, “Sir, Mr Augusto, we have no way of knowing if the radiation is still being emitted, and …”

“How long has it been since the accident?”

Ignoring the cool disturbing stare of Taylor, Rodney stepped forward and waved his bound hands, “A million years or more but that is not the point! Without knowing the nature of the radiation and if the device is still on…unlikely, yes perhaps, but the risk of exposure goes through the roof the moment you even think of tampering with the shield!”

The sensation of moving, solid air at his throat, a slight pressure, had Rodney trailing off. Augusto, oblivious, mused quietly, “Then, perhaps you and Drs Messer and Russo had better get cracking and figure out all those questions.”

McKay gulped, nodded and walked over to the two idiots now pounding on the panel looking for answers. He very deliberately did not look at the Kinetic’s smug smile.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

As amusing as it was tormenting Dr Rodney McKay, Taylor soon grew bored as the minutes ticked by, the scientists huddled together, Miles strutting around and the other prisoners waiting patiently. He could _feel_ Durrant and Hughes behind him, and they seemed… amused by something. 

Augusto, ever the pragmatist had ordered the camp struck. Even if they had hours before the SGC sent a rescue team, they had best be ready to run. Those soldiers not out looking for the lone SGC man were helping take down tents, whilst annoyed scientists packed away equipment. 

And as interesting as it was watching three scientists argue over data older than the human race, Taylor tapped Augusto’s arm and said quietly, “I’ll be right back.”

Miles’s nod was firm, worried, the tell tale emotion seeping out of him. Taylor slipped away, making a beeline for Winchester’s tent. Stiff beige tent material flapped as he entered the dim but stuffy confines of the tent. Winchester was awake, staring at the soft wall opposite.

“Sleep well?”

Dean didn’t even bother turning to face him, but Taylor moved forward with purpose, talking swiftly, “We’ve hit a little snafu, so we’re bugging out in the next few hours. I’m sure you’d appreciate a chance to stretch your legs... if you behave.”

It was odd reading Dean now. Before, with his empathic field blown wide open you could feel whatever he was feeling, anger, fear, hate, despair, whatever. But now that they had a semblance of a connection it was muted, swallowed in feedback from Durrant and Hughes, and himself. So, if Dean was keen for a chance to walk about, it was difficult to tell.

Dropping to his knees, running his tongue over his lips, Taylor fingered the buckle on the medical restraint and said, “So?”

Dean didn’t react, didn’t turn, and continued to ignore him. Fighting a surge of irritation, Taylor began to unbuckle the strap, battling the surge of mixed emotions from the two idiots outside. “Playing mute is childish, Dean. The trip out was pretty rough, and don’t think the one back is going to be any better. You’d do well to be a little more... accommodating.”

The explosion of movement took Taylor completely by surprise. Dean launched himself up off the camp bed, both hands free and Taylor saw stars and fell backwards as two, three heavy punches landed, head and stomach. A fourth slammed into his solar plexus and he went all the way down, butt connecting hard with the ground. 

Shaken, head spinning and unable to breath, Taylor struggled to gather enough kinesis to fight back, but the fifth KO hit right into his groin stopped any thought period as he howled and clutched himself. 

“Shit, shit, stupid frigging thing!”

Taylor was only vaguely aware of Durrant’s arrival, but he felt the surge through the connection, as Durrant tackled Winchester going for physical first, even as he rocked in misery, trying not to moan. Physically Winchester and Durrant were evenly matched, even if Durrant was bulkier. But a Kinetic didn’t have just two hands in a fight, he had as many as he could imagine. 

Dean hadn’t managed to get his ankle loose from the cuff in time and between that, and Durrant’s ‘extra’ hands the scuffle should have been short lived. But when the camp bed fell on top of Taylor and a stray boot clipped his chin, he couldn’t help the growl of pain as he tried to move away. 

Winchester was on Durrant’s back, a thick arm wrapped around his neck, one free leg hooked around his waist, trying to choke him out. Durrant was whaling on him kinetically, the blows not as heavy as real fists but still punishing, trying to dislodge the Empath. It was a race, unconsciousness vs. endurance. Taylor tried to summon enough kinetic pull to pile in but the pain between his legs was too distracting. 

And perhaps if there had only been two Kinetics Winchester might have won the round. But he was in the middle of a camp of enemies, a billion light years from home and there was Hughes. Maybe the weakest, definitely the laziest, Hughes just walked in, took the brawl in and did what came easiest. He _pulled_ on the chain connecting them all, shook it a lot and Dean screamed, falling off Durrant’s back, clutching his head. 

Taylor swallowed a wave of nausea, and Durrant gagged, groaning in pain. Hughes waved off a pair of concerned soldiers, who had run over. Humming to himself, Hughes stepped over Durrant, absently wiping his own bloody nose and snapped a pair of handcuffs on Dean, bandaged wrists pulled behind his back.

Winchester was throwing up, again, but it was just long streams of bile and spit, his misery flooding through them, adding to their own collective woes. “Dudes, you suck. All of you. Way to ruin the buzz.”

Standing, wheezing a little, Durrant lurched forward and drew back his foot to kick Winchester. Channelling his anger, Taylor _threw_ him back, so that he crashed into the small table that had survived everything else and he snarled, “Stay away from him!”

Hughes waved his hands and said cheerfully, “Calm down guys, no need to get worked up. Just ... chill.” 

Nikolai stuck his head and then his large, aggressive frame inside the tent and sneered, “If you pansies are done rolling around, Miles wants you.”

Durrant and Taylor both stepped forward to get Dean, and glared at each other, a crackle of energy between them. Rolling his eyes, Hughes hauled Winchester upright, steadying him as did. “Come on, guys. Grow up.”

The little party at the dome hadn’t changed materially, albeit Miles looked even more excited and Mckay was looking livid. “Everything alright, gentlemen?” 

Hughes nodded, and Durrant scowled, but it was only when Taylor waved an ‘okay’, that Miles pushed forward. “Excellent, we have a solution and require your assistance.” 

Suddenly sidetracked by the fresh blood, and the sagging Empath between them, Miles blinked slowly and Taylor snapped, “What, Augusto?”

Turning, Miles waved at the collected Doctors and said brightly, “They have identified the device emitting the shield, it’s that odd bulbous thing on the far left. Fortunately it has a control that allows you to shrink or grow the shield. Its amazing what you can find out from useless panels with the right incentive.”

Dr McKay was a glowering, furious mess, and the Colonel had several new bruises. Durrant and Hughes were staring up the dome, studying the lit entire. Hughes let Winchester sink to his knees, patting him on the head. 

Augusto was fit to burst with glee as he said, “I want you to shrink the shield so that we can get inside the dome.”

“And not die from the radiation?” Taylor quipped, fingering the red mark on his chin, and then rubbing his aching chest. 

Dr ‘Handsome’ Russo piped up, “We are going to set up a secondary shield just in case, but you should be able to lift items out so that we can test them, right?”

“Just glorified forklifts, huh? Why else drag us halfway across the Galaxy,” Durrant glowered, sounding hoarse.

“This is still a terrible idea, we have no idea what sort of latent radiation...” McKay shouted, pointing at the shielded room, gesturing manically.

“Secondary shield, Dr McKay! And containment boxes, we aren’t amateurs,” Augusto snapped, annoyance colouring his excitement.

McKay’s snort was less convinced than his eye roll. 

Straightening, still smarting from Dean’s blow, Taylor cleared his throat, “Fine, let’s see if we can manipulate the damn thing through the shield while we wait. Follow my lead, gentlemen.” This was directed at Hughes and Durrant.

Hughes nodded, hand hovering near Winchester’s head, but Durrant’s eyes narrowed and he snarled, “No, screw you being in charge. Winchester just about had you on the ropes back there!”

Drawing the gaze of everyone in the immediate vicinity, Durrant’s volume and spike of anger was impossible to ignore. Taylor stepped into Durant’s personal space, jabbing a finger at him, “I would have got it under control!”

“Gentlemen!” Augusto tried to interject, but he made no move towards them, the air crackling around the pair.

“Between that massive ego and obsession, you refuse to see that he’s just playing us, acting all pathetic and weak. He needs to be smacked down, put in his place!” Durrant screamed, spittle flying everywhere.

“Try it and I will kill you!”

Hughes, looking pale gasped quietly, “Dudes, I’m not feeling too good.”

From over in the corner, leaning against the panel, projecting bored calm but terrified, McKay muttered, “Oh, we are so going to die.”

Backing off, looking to see where Nikolai had gone to, Augusto yelled, “Taylor, Durrant! Enough.”

It didn’t take long for the fight to get ‘mental’ and Durrant _pushed_ at the same time as Taylor and the air snapped between them. “Son of a ...” 

“Guys, I still feel kinda.... light headed,” Hughes mumbled, staggering several steps away. Miles flapped his hands and shouted, “Stop! Everyone just stop!” But Taylor and Durrant were nose to nose, screaming at each other. Rodney backed the scientists up, and was waving at the panel, mouthing something. 

Hughes stared at his red hands, and wiped ineffectually at his streaming nose. “Guys?”  
Getting paler and paler, he wobbled, coughed a spray of blood. “Guys...”

And collapsed, face first.

No one even noticed, the shouting Kinetics the centre of attention.

Except Dean.

*

TBC in Part 4

Ugh, I hate talking heads and exposition. Ugh. So tempted to post chapter 4 early, really really tempted. But 5 is a distant goal. Damn. 

 


	4. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 4/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

  


Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 4/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 4

No one was looking at Dean Winchester. Not really. Not because of who he was but because of what he was. An Empath. Had he been anyone else, any one at all, he’d be the type of man you’d pay careful attention to, a man with purpose and depth and skills, a man to be watched. Tall, handsome and far more beneath the surface than just a pretty face. 

But he was an Empath and everyone knew that Empaths were soft and useless and only good for Kinetics and powering them up and being there in the background and invisible. Yet at the same time, in the back of your mind was the quiet whisper of certain knowledge, of Galvaston and danger and quiet waters running deep and deadly men with gentle smiles. 

And that was perhaps why you liked to believe the lie that Empaths were soft and useless and good only for Kinetics because the truth was hard and frightening and made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, like they were doing now on Sheppard’s. 

Because people were people and they would believe whatever made them sleep well at night even if it was a bald faced lie that they wouldn’t even expect their children to swallow but they did because it was easier than the truth. The truth that a man was a man, no matter what you believed and if you beat and push and ignore and shove someone in a box and tell him that he belongs in that box, that he is nothing and useless and soft and only good for kinetics, that there is a good chance that he is going to shove right back and give you a lot more than a bloody nose. Especially if that someone is an Empath and you know all about Galvaston and it gives you nightmares, so you believe the lie, so that you can sleep.

Only Teyla had never heard the lie, had no idea about the quiet little box that Dean Winchester was supposed to fit into neatly and quietly and she was watching him with the concern you usually gave Ronon when he was irate, or Todd when he was close at hand and not in restraints, or well... anyone who had purpose and skills and the ability to send a hundred people off a rooftop to their deaths because he felt like it.

And John, John was well used to being looked at one way, being seen as something less and useless and good only for ferrying scientists around in a helicopter in the frozen wastes of a dead continent but knowing deep down inside that he was more, had purpose and skills and heaven above, given the chance could find a place in the universe that was his and where he belonged. So Sheppard was watching Winchester with the same if not greater concern as Teyla because he knew the lie and knew in a fundamental way what type of man Dean Winchester was, and that what was about to happen, would be both wondrous and frightening to behold.

After all there are only so many times someone will take the punishment of the unthinking and thoughtless and let it slide and let it slide, waiting for who knew what before they would stand up, and do something about it. Sheppard was amazed how someone on their knees, bound and bloody could look so damn frightening, but Winchester was doing an admirable job of just that. 

The standoff between the two Kinetics wasn’t even close to resolution, the one called Hughes still senseless on the ground, a growing pool of blood beneath him. Durrant wasn’t faring much better but he was ignoring the stream of blood from his ears and nose, too intent on his face off with Taylor, a prize at stake, a wonderful earth shattering prize. Too bad that neither man was paying attention to their prize, too caught up in their pride, ego, possessiveness and well... idiocy. 

Augusto, the little obsequious man in charge of the whole thing was trying to diffuse the situation, but between trying to get the camp struck, the Al’kesh packed and collect his own prize, the arguing Kinetics were wavering on the top of his list of priorities. Rodney was doing his best to distract the scientists, arguing loudly, calling everything from their degrees, pedigrees and fashion sense into question, enough so that they weren’t paying attention to anything but him and the Kinetics. Rodney however had lived long enough and if that wasn’t enough of a badge of success, that he was alive, that he was giving the ignored form of Winchester equal if not more attention than his diatribe and that was proof enough that Rodney McKay was an intelligent man. 

The air felt electric, and John judged that most of the people around him were notching that up to the Kinetics and not anything else. Augusto was yelling at mercenaries on the radio, presumably still chasing Ronon, at scientists and staff running around the camp and at the Kinetics. Taylor and Durrant were yelling at each other, the air actually vibrating around them as they fought for control over Winchester. And Rodney, Rodney had the two scientists near the shield holding back an apocalyptic catastrophe, arguing about semantics in Ancient.

 If there was ever a tableau destined for a dramatic overhaul, this was one.

“Be ready,” Sheppard hissed and Teyla nodded, already ready.

And Winchester did not disappoint.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

-. --- / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .... . / .-- .. .-.. .-..

The chain that Taylor had so inventively shoved inside his brain, inside _him_ , tore and grated like nothing else ever had. In the two years of hell that had been his life with T&E, Dean had fended off more attacks and attempts to connect than he would have thought possible. 

Dad had been adamant about staying away from T&E, no matter how much Sam had scoffed at his paranoia. John had never told Dean why he had been so afraid for him, so certain T&E was a death sentence, but Dean had believed him, like he had most things his father told him. And while his view on his father had changed over time, especially after his death, he had never doubted this one fear.  Even if Sam had, even if Sam’s final words through their connection had been reassurance that it could not be as bad as their Dad had made out, it could never be, Dean had believed his Dad anyway.

 

And Dad had been wrong on so many levels but at the core, at the heart of it all, had never been so right. It was everything he had warned and ten times worse. 

Sam, Sam, Sam. 

For months Dean had felt nothing but hate and anger at his brother, for lying, for leaving, for letting them take him away, for not fighting to stay with him. Even if Dean wasn’t ‘his’ in the way every Kinetic seemed to think he was theirs, because Sam had never thought of Dean as anything but his brother, at least Sam knew him. And that was the problem. Sam could never, would never think or believe that someone would think of _his_ brother as anything but strong, and capable and dangerous.

But T&E only saw one thing. And the Kinetics only felt one thing. And as much as Dean fought and argued and refused to be that thing, it didn’t stop them from thinking and feeling and acting like he was theirs and theirs to be used. 

Dean had fought, tried to run, been as difficult and troublesome as he knew how, but all it took was a single current of electricity to take away all thought but pain and fear and _gone, gone, gone_ and before he knew it he was fighting to put the pieces of himself back together, again. And every time it took longer, longer to remember that he was Dean Winchester, John Winchester’s son, ghost hunter and demon killer. But he did remember eventually, and fought and asked for help and tried so hard not to be what they made him. But all it took was a current of cold, breathtaking, earth shattering electricity and the indifferent helpless shrugs of others, and he had to start again. 

But the chain was different, raw and painful, but different and Hughes with his laid back, smooth as glass smile and quiet terror of anything resembling hard work was down. And Dean knew why, knew exactly why, had felt the feedback and had _pushed_ and watched him fall.

So many Kinetics, so many emotions and personalities, and Dean knew a hundred ways to fend them off, but he also knew a precious few ways to hurt them. And right now, Durrant was a writhing mass of determination, so intent on ignoring his own pain, that he was ignoring Dean. Taylor though, Taylor was not so foolhardy and even as he fought Durrant for control, he was keeping a firm hand on the chain, rattling it even as he _shoved_ and _pushed_ Durrant to a standstill, screaming all sorts of arrogant vitriol.

Maybe it was the fact that they were in a dead city on a dead planet in the galaxy far far away. Maybe it was the way the dark haired Colonel across from him was looking at him, his exotic companion sharing the same careful, considering expression, like he was ‘someone’. And maybe it was just too much, too long and the right time, but the Colonel actually smiled and winked at him as Dean stood.

Because enough was enough, and the chain was making everything taste like blood and the last time he’d felt this close to death, his father had been looking at him with sickly yellow eyes, and smiling as he begged for mercy. 

_ Please, Dad. _

Electricity was the enemy. It’d nearly killed him with the rawhead, introduced him to his first Reaper and had taken away Sam, over and over again. Kinetics wielded it like a damned toy, scattering his thoughts and everything. But it was also his to control. It had saved Agent Hotchner, had even saved Sam in Cold Oak. 

The exposed shield wasn’t really electricity but it was energy and it sang to him. So as he stood, and everyone’s eyes were drawn to him, every face turned, Dean _reached_ out to the shield and _pulled._

Durrant screamed like he was being gutted, and the metal of the handcuffs stung as electricity raced through him, and Dean _shook_ the chain connecting him to the Kinetics. Taylor dropped to his knees, clutching his head, while Durrant screamed again. 

There were shouts and running people, mostly away from him but a few towards them, but Durrant wasn’t going down without a fight. The _punch_ he threw at Dean was rock solid, but buoyed by the energy of the shield, Dean absorbed it with a grunt and sent it back, both physically and mentally, and Durrant dropped in an explosion of blood. 

Taylor though was sneaky and clever and Dean was wide open. The _push_ to connect was gut wrenching but Dean had been expecting it, waiting for it. Absorbing this blow too, different in purpose but not intent, Dean _held_ on to the chain between them and grated out, eyes boring in Taylor, “You want to connect? Fine!”

Taylor, knees digging into the dirt, hands clutched in his hair, tearing at the roots, felt a rush of emotion so intense it made him fold over and gag on the flood. He had been connected once and knew what the heady sensation of someone else’s emotions felt like but this...

It wasn’t just emotion, there were images and sensations and memories, and it was ... frightening, overwhelming. It truly was a flood, so much washing over him that he could hardly breathe, his heart hammering as he tried to control it, stop it, bring Dean to heel. 

Out of the swirling mass of a lifetime of memories and emotions, Taylor suddenly felt ice rip though him, like invisible claws, his chest bleeding. He looked up into cold yellow eyes and heard _he’s gonna taste the iron in your blood, boy_. The pain ripping through his chest grew, fear and panic clawing at his and he cried out, _Dad, please, Dad!_

Then there was Sam, and love and grief and fear and tossing, frying some guy in a uniform, the smell of ozone and fried meat in the air, the taste of blood in his mouth. But Sam was safe, always keeping him safe, saving him, watching, protecting. _No one touches!_

Watching Sam cry and beg and plead... _Kill me, Dean. You have to promise._ Sam’s face sneering and angry, and spiteful, eyes black, thick fingers digging into his shoulder, feeling the bullet move and grate against bone.

Ole Yellow Eye’s stunned expression. Dad, smiling and crying, free. 

Mom kissing him on the cheek, then the feel of a blade in his stomach, stabbing himself, killing her and his dreams and hopes and home, the taste of ash in his mouth.

Sam walking away, without looking back, stiff with anger and pride. The bite and grind of a salt round to the chest. _Daddy’s blunt instrument._ __

Dad ignoring him, furious and hurt because Sam had run away, the bite of fear and shame and deserved punishment. 

_ You may have to kill your brother. _ _ _

The smell of human flesh burning, tears cold and wet on his face, Dad gone, gone, gone, never coming back, burning in hell, burning for him, burning, burning, burning. Cold blood on his face, emptiness inside. Burying the horror even as he hit Sam, burying it all, because he was dead, should have stayed dead. 

And then... Sam. Walking away, in chains and cuffs, sending through a torrent of reassurance and love and it won’t be so bad, don’t give up.  Henricksen’s angry smirk. Andrews’ happy evil smile.

Taylor didn’t feel the ground as it came up to meet him, boneless and nerveless. 

Because then there was cold, biting pain. Sam ripped from him, Sam, Sammy gone. The taste of blood in his mouth, muscles screaming, voice breaking, nothing but screaming, because Sam was gone, gone, gone. Crying, sobbing as electric currents raced through him wiping away his brother, ripping them apart, Sam’s voice and emotions going, going, gone, lost. Fighting so damn hard but failing ... until there was nothing.

Taylor gasped, shaking and seizing, eyes rolling back, blood streaming from his nose, ears and eyes, gagging on the blood. He twitched, moaned, gurgled and then ... was utterly still.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

... . . / - --- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..-

Teyla didn’t really need the prompting, but Sheppard couldn’t really help it, the instinct too ingrained. When the first Kinetic dropped in a spray of blood and the last started screaming like someone was skinning him alive, John shouted, “Go, go, go.” He scrambled to his feet, pushing Teyla towards the paltry cover of a few crates, but Teyla was already running.

Rodney, ever quick to preserve self and others had body checked the scientists next to him and as they collapsed in a tangled groan of legs and arms, an arc of crackling energy snapped into the pillar above them. 

Neither Kinetic was moving, both covered in blood and as John peered around the crate, he couldn’t help smiling as Winchester broke the weakened, melted cuffs and raised fists wrapped in writhing electricity.  “Nice.”

The few mercenaries not hunting Ronon were running towards him, not really ‘seeing’ what had just happened, but professional enough to realise something more than the usual was going on. You didn’t stay alive for long, not even if you worked for the Trust, or maybe especially if you worked for the Trust, if the sight of someone with glowing fists gave you pause. 

They fired a combination of live rounds and zat fire at Winchester, even as they took cover as well. If the live fire reached him, John had no idea what happened to the bullets but the energy blasts from the zats were absorbed in the growing atmosphere of static energy around him. 

And Winchester returned fire before they even had a chance to think about doing the same again. Like something out of a movie with awesome special effects, Dean shot great arcs of lightning at the soldiers, scattering crates and tents. And he didn’t let up either, moving smoothly forward and around, sending a steady stream of blue and white electricity at anything that moved.

The thick, unusual stone of the city, that had survived millions of years of neglect and ruin, cracked and smoked under the onslaught, small sharp shards of rock exploding with each hit. Feeling his hair stand on end, John kept as still as possible and noted that while some of the strikes came pretty damned close, none of the blasts actually hit anyone, but the concussion of the hot air and energy was decimating the mercenaries. 

The tang of ozone was sharp and the men were tough, but Dean gave them no opportunity to do anything more than run for cover or collapse unconscious. Startling him a little, Teyla touched his hands briefly and as he turned, she hissed, “Hold still, John.” Not surprisingly, she had somehow found a knife and was quickly sawing on the plastic tie around his hands. 

The explosions had drawn the mercenaries out in the city and Dean spotted them right off, and tossed several, long, reaching lightning strikes, scattering them before they really knew what was going on. Not wanting to risk a bolt of energy, Sheppard and Teyla stayed where they were, and not even the reinforcements seemed willing to risk getting any closer. Augusto was cowering behind a tent, Nikolai a towering figure, returning fire and dodging behind cover.  Winchester was drenched in sweat, but vigilant, taking pot shots at the mercenaries, still cracking the odd building or wall with his fire, but Sheppard’s gaze was drawn more to the shield behind them.

The large dome building with its Ancient shield was unscathed but the shield was sparking and cracking in response to each strike, and with a desperate groan, Sheppard had a bad feeling he knew why. “Crap.”

“What?” Teyla hissed.

“He’s draining the shield and I’m pretty sure Rodney’s right about the radiation.”

Winchester showed no sign of flagging or stopping, not with enemies still behind cover, taking pot shots at him, but the shield was definitely taking strain. Wondering if the risk of yelling a warning would outweigh the real possibility of getting shot at but certain he had to do something, Sheppard leaned around the crate. 

Responding to the movement, Winchester swung in his direction but thankfully did not fire at him, and Sheppard yelled, “The shield!”

But the mercenaries were waiting for just such a distraction and surged from behind cover, even those close by who had seemed unconscious and Dean had to take several steps back and to the side to avoid their hail of fire. Under that onslaught the haze of electricity and energy around Winchester was almost blinding and while the zat fire was absorbed, some of the bullets must have made it through, but Dean remained standing.

The shield however was positively shaking, threatening to collapse at any second. “John,” Teyla called out in warning, but Sheppard was already moving, on his feet.

Rodney however, closer, quicker and perhaps far more aware of the impending doom acted first. Winchester had moved closer to him and in the sudden break of fire, Rodney rolled over and wrapped his hand around Winchester’s ankle in a fierce grip and yelled, “Stop!”

Maybe Dean was so caught up in the moment, or maybe his control of his other abilities was low, but everyone felt Rodney’s fear and warning projected through Winchester. Blinking at the rush of _stop, stop, stop_ , Sheppard did just that, exposed and half a step out of cover. But so did all of the mercenaries, their guns and zats silent. And so did Winchester.

The snap and crackle of electricity lingered but as Dean slowly looked down at Rodney, who was still gripping his foot, the haze of energy around him disappeared, the electricity around his hands faded and the shield behind him snapped and fizzed and then settled into a steady hum.

A stunned silence fell over everyone, and as Teyla stood, the collected mercenaries raised their weapons, and Dean clenched his fists.

“Don’t,” Rodney gasped, looking up at Winchester. “I’m serious, deadly, life ending, planet killing radiation is behind that shield and well... I’d rather not die right now, thanks.”

And because sometimes life is just like that, and luck goes their way, several jumpers decloaked right then and Lorne’s clear, authoritative voice ordered, “Everyone, drop your weapons. Now!” And Sheppard’s Marines ran out from the cover of the City, and another Jumper decloaked and because they were professionals and knew when to fold, the Trust’s hired soldiers dropped their guns and raised their hands in surrender.

And just like that, it was over.

A few scientists stood up and scurried over, happy to surrender. Marines moved in to de-arm and secure their prisoners. McKay slowly stood and then hurried over to the Ancient panel and the two Trust scientists joined him. Sheppard waved at Ronon who jumped down out of a Jumper, with a smile. But no one made any move towards Dean Winchester and the two unmoving bodies of the Kinetics at his feet, the third a few feet away.

Well, no one but Teyla. And John let her, not really worried but wary nonetheless, watching quietly.

Winchester didn’t seem to know what to do, he was shaking and trembling, hands clenching into fists and then shaking them lose and clenching again. He was watching everyone and everything and watching Teyla approach with wary worry. 

Teyla didn’t smile, didn’t raise a hand in reassurance but everything about her radiated peace and calm and quiet. 

Well aware that everyone was watching, even if they weren’t doing so directly,  Dean reflexively stepped back, holding up a hand as if in warning, in defence. But Teyla didn’t even pause, her posture and grace smooth and confident. And as Winchester took yet another step away, she matched his motion and stepped right within reach, breaching his personal space.

As natural as one breath to the next, Teyla reached out and touched Dean’s trembling hands, and he stilled in an instant. Moving hands to his shoulders, Teyla pulled him without any real effort into the traditional Athosian greeting, forehead to forehead, her hands now on his neck, fingers kneading his tense muscles.

Sheppard knew he was smiling, remembering his first awkward Athosian embrace and felt the tension drain out him as well. The Marines relaxed, Ronon’s frown vanished, as Teyla wrapped strong arms around Dean, and after a moment, he did the same, swallowing her in his embrace. The collective drop in tense anticipation and fear was breathtaking. 

John wasn’t really close enough to hear, but he knew Teyla would be whispering words of comfort and reassurance, and Winchester’s arms tightened around her, his face buried in her shoulder.  

“Did he really kill that guy using his mind?” Ronon was suddenly next him, checking without really seeming to, that John was ok, bar the mess of his face.

“Apparently so.” 

Still without actually looking at Sheppard, his gaze fixed on Teyla and Dean, Ronon growled, “Like Darth Vader?”

“I’m hoping more ‘Jedi’ than ‘Sith’, personally.”

“Kenobi?”

Sheppard nodded, breathing out and feeling the rush of adrenalin finally die, “Yeah.”

“Awesome,” Ronon grinned.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

[ Teaser ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13964.html#cutid1)    [Part 1](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/16636.html)  [Part 2](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/17387.html)   [Part 3](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19226.html)   [Part 4](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19859.html)    [Part 5](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/21147.html)   [Part 6](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/22848.html)   [Part 7](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24140.html)   [Part 8](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24712.html)    [Part 9](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25048.html)   [Epilogue](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)   
  
[ Background blurb ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13216.html#cutid1)

  



	5. Supply and Demand Stolen Part 5/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

  


Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 5/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: tari_roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA 

  
Chapter 5

 “Your timing is getting better.”

Lorne shrugged, “You give me plenty of opportunity to practice, sir.” It was difficult to summon enough ire to truly impress upon his XO his lack of appreciation for that comment with only one eye and a face of hamburger, but Sheppard gave it his best shot. 

Major Lorne remained impervious though and said with a straight face, looking at the battered buildings, “Didn’t you implement a rule about going sightseeing without telling anyone, sir?”

“No, that was your other CO, Evan.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah the one laughing on the other side of my face. I get it, I get it, alright.” Sheppard side stepped, twisting to face Lorne a little more, grateful to be armed again, even if it was only a sidearm. Lorne turned and raised an eyebrow, studying his CO closely, which John didn’t really appreciate. 

Lorne drawled, “Sir, no one is going to follow your rules if when you break them, you stumble across a massive Trust operation and piss them off long enough to get rescued. A bad example of the necessity of following rules.”

“Eh, what can you do,” John shrugged minutely, feeling the pull of a bruise over the leftside of his chest. Lorne just nodded solemnly, refusing to smile, let alone laugh.   

“Care to fill me in, sir?” he said instead, hefting his P-90 and nodding at Lieutenant Hamma, who was arriving with two Corporals in tow after a swift perimeter sweep, all three nodding an all clear. 

“You mean you didn’t get an earful from Rodney already?” John sighed, glad everyone from the Trust expedition had been accounted for.

“I did, sir, but I seem to have selective deafness around Dr. McKay. Character flaw, I know. One I am cultivating.”

Sheppard nodded, slowly, wincing minutely as he too tried not to grin. Bulky Marines, pissed off that they hadn’t got the chance to blow anything up, let alone shoot bad guys, were securing the immediate area, using plastic ties to restrain the Trust mercenaries, a small pile of weapons growing off to the right as the men were disarmed. The scientists were easy to corral, best happy when in the midst of a herd of fellow pacifists or men smart enough to not poke at disgruntled Marines.

You could hear Rodney over near the shield and panel, yelling at ... someone or something, or maybe just the situation in general. Hands now free to work their magic, McKay was... agitated, at the very least, terrified out of his mind at worst. And the reason John knew that Rodney was terrified was not due to his usual bluster but was standing out in the open, as far away from everyone as Teyla and Ronon would let him. 

After any sort of combat situation or conflict, you tended to vibrate with lingering adrenalin for a while. Heart rate slowly returning to normal, the sheen of sweat cooling you down. But the Marines were still twitchy, hands tight but relaxed on weapons, ready for anything, eyes scanning the perimeter. You’d think they were on a Hive or in the middle of Bagdad and not on a secure world. The prisoners were restless, eyes drawn to the three unconscious, maybe dead colleagues. The former soldiers were watching the Marines with careful, professional looks, which in turn only made the Marines more tense. The hushed buzz from the scientists and support personnel wasn’t helping, an undercurrent of worry and fear. It was all very ... tense. 

You could taste Rodney’s fear, like a sour sensation at the back of your throat, unsettling your stomach. Everyone could, added with their own and their colleagues. And it made them scared, and nervous and worried, and add that to the fear of being captured, the shame of being defeated and the air was heavy with anticipation.

And everyone also knew why they were feeling ‘overwrought’. Only the short little guy, Augusto, though was staring at the source. 

“Stupid, piece of ancient junk!”

Rodney was always loud, but this echoed. The level of emotion ratcheted up as Rodney started stabbing at his tablet, a mumbled stream of imprecations directed at the equipment. McKay was probably feeling the same rise in emotion, and getting more and more agitated, which fed back into the general mix. Those circles sure were vicious. 

Shoving aside his own rising fear and worry in action and purpose, Sheppard sighed, “Lorne, would you ...”

Evan was already moving though, leaving John to stand awkwardly on his own, favouring his ribs, and pretending that the two heavily armed Sergeants hovering near him wasn’t an insult but a testament to their devotion. If pressed though, the Sergeants would probably only admit to the frustration of keeping crazy assed COs alive despite their best efforts to off themselves by going offworld without Marines. There was a brief argument by the dome, before Lorne just grabbed McKay’s tablet and walked off, leaving McKay spluttering. Rodney followed Lorne with a wave of verbal outrage and snapped at Sheppard, “What? Busy here trying to determine if we are all going to die!” He snatched his tablet back from Lorne, withering glare unheeded.

Calmly, firmly, gently, John said, “I understand that, Rodney. But you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down!” The exclamation mark was audible. Before Sheppard could interject Rodney steamrolled on, “We all may have been exposed to deadly radiation during that lightning freak show and you want me to calm down?”

“Yes, and if we had, wouldn’t we be dead by now?” Sheppard replied as calmly as one could when told about possible radiation leaks.

McKay waved that aside with the all condescension the inconsequential warranted, “So maybe I exaggerated a little, a lot, to impress upon those morons the seriousness of the situation.” Rodney shot a glare at Augusto. “Seriously though, it could have taken months, years for everyone to die, or seconds. It was a million years ago, and the Ancients, in their concise and logical madness failed to make note of that, if they confirmed anything at all!”

“So we could have been exposed to radiation?” John said.

Rodney did the Flappy Hands of Doom and flustered, “Did I not just say that? And I am trying to confirm our impending deaths with a piece of crap scanner that refuses to interface!”

Rodney turned to stalk back, but John snapped firmly, “Fine. Go check. But do it calmly.”

“What! Why?” McKay barked, turning on his heel.

Rolling his eyes and lowering his voice more, Sheppard said, “You may be the most obtuse man on this planet Rodney, but we’re all feeling a little bit too tense and worried for a rescue gone well. Unknown radiation aside, considering you were the only one aware of that possibility.”

Sheppard caught Rodney’s gaze, tried to ‘will’ insight through his sometimes thick skull and McKay threw up his hands and said, “Of course there’s tension, we may all be dead! I don’t see ....” Luckily Rodney paused to take breath and glare at Sheppard and then put two and two together. His eyes shot over to Dean Winchester like lightning and he paled, “Oh.”

“Oh.” Sheppard nodded, “So, let’s be a little less overwrought, McKay, and stop freaking the Empath out with our melodrama.”

Rodney opened his mouth, closed it, glared at Lorne who was hiding a smile and snapped, “Life threatening danger, Sheppard. Deadly radiation!”

“Abused, agitated, on the edge Empath, McKay.”

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.”

“Yes, Rodney, you are.”

McKay flounced off, and while the tense atmosphere didn’t diminish immediately, after a few minutes of Rodney working quietly on the panel and LSD, things seemed to calm down a notch or two. Idly watching Teyla try and talk to Winchester, Sheppard said out of the corner of his mouth to Lorne, “You got a jumper prepped for medi-vac?”

“Yes, sir. In the Gate Room, Dr Beckett on board.”

“Relay the message on potential radiation exposure. Get Beckett out here with hazmat suits. Help calm the storm.”

“Or feed the fire.”

Lorne relayed the message quietly, projecting as much professionalism in his voice as possible. With the two senior officers looking calm and relaxed, the Marines started to ease down a little too, no matter the tense atmosphere. 

“Maybe if you sat down, sir?”

“Won’t be able to get back up.”

Lorne’s gaze spoke volumes and Sheppard sank down into the chair one of his Marine shadows had brought over. “Thanks. Maybe I should go over and talk to him.” Sheppard listed over to one side, breathing through the aches and pains making themselves known.

“Who, the Empath?”

“Yeah.”

Lorne shook his head, “Probably not a good idea. Sent Peters over there to check if everything was ok and he said he nearly threw up he felt so weirded out.”

Perplexed, forehead furrowed, Sheppard mused, “Teyla and Ronon seem ok.”

“Not in uniform with guns, maybe,” Lorne offered, to which John barked out an incredulous laugh, “It’s Ronon!”

Lorne shrugged, smiling along with Sheppard and John waved it off, “Fine, I’ll let Teyla handle it for now.”

To this Evan agreed with feral grin and straightened, back ramrod, “Good. Because the men and I would like to know who did that to your face, sir?”

The two Marines snapped to attention with instant precision, their eagerness to wreck violent retribution kinda sweet. Sheppard though shook his head, “Oh, not really important right now, Major.”

“I would disagree, sir. If we are all going to die, I am certain that some people can meet their ends a little sooner than others.” There was general agreement from the Sergeants, both pretending not to be utterly fascinated with the conversation.

Snorting, John huffed, “So bloodthirsty, Lorne. You’ve been spending too much time to the Jarheads.” 

“Them with me, sir.” The bristling disagreement from the Marines, nonverbal but oh so palpable was cute. And he must have been hit in the head one too many times if he was equating Marines with words like sweet and cute.  

Swiftly changing tack, hoping to leave behind the topic of his face, John leant back in the chair with an involuntary hiss and muttered, “Usually by now, I’d be yelling at McKay to get a move on.”

“You want me to go ‘be you’,” Lorne offered.

“No, being me right now sucks. Let’s just leave it.”

Maybe Rodney was missing being yelled at because he stalked over, a little black thundercloud of restrained anger. “Damn thing won’t be definitive. Either we are safe and nothing leaked or we’re dead. So... no clue.” Glaring at John, McKay snapped, “Better send for Dr Beckett, Voodoo Medicine Man in the fancy red Santa suit.”

“Already done.” McKay looked at Lorne for confirmation, and Lorne just raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Good. Whatever.” Rodney sat down in the chair next to Sheppard and sighed, “I blame you for this entirely.”

“I know you do.” McKay contemplated his choice of response, paused as he took in Sheppard’s slouch and then Lorne beat him to the punch, “So, sir, while we wait for Beckett.. or death…. How about that name?”

“Who, the guy who did that to his face?” McKay twisted in his chair, heading snapping around like a top. Three nods, one groan. Delighted to be of assistance, Rodney helpfully pointed at Nikolai and said, “Big hulk of dumbass over there, with the large forehead.”

The Marines smiled and Sheppard hissed, “Down boys. Down.”

Lorne though looked contemplative and the Marines looked scary and luckily the medi-vac Jumper arrived timeously to distract revenge-bent Marines and XOs. Unfortunately, Marines are very single-minded when they want to be, and Nikolai would probably be tripping, a lot. Especially onto fists.

Oh well, John thought. Too bad, so sad.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

.- .-.. .. . -. ... / .- .-. . / .-. . .- .-.. ..--..

In the grand scheme of things, this situation right here was totally and utterly messed up.  Maelstrom of emotion aside, his and everyone elses, Dean had one thought uppermost in the mess that was his head.  First time someone has touched him, hugged him willingly, with no other motive than to damn comfort him in two years , and all he could think was, ‘ _Shit, I can’t feel her breasts with that vest on._ ’ 

Which was followed by ‘ _what a douche’_ and stepping away from her. Now though, heart beats into this new sensation of being ‘free’ and shit, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The rush of adrenalin was overwhelming, not to mention the shitstorm of emotion rolling off everyone. 

Except her.

Clenching his fists, knuckles going white, Dean wished he had pockets or something to stick them in. Never mind that he was trembling all over, his hands were the dead giveaway that something was wrong, that he wasn’t in control. He stuck them under his arms, folded arms tight, trying to settle, but he felt exposed, on display like some victim of abuse and trauma, so instead he started pacing. 

Near her.

She was frigging awesome. Either she was an Empath with major barriers or some hot alien chick with weird powers, because she was a dead spot of emotion. Nil, nothing, nada. And that... was frigging awesome. Dredging up all those memories and emotions about Sam and Dad had been awful, and awfully good. He was feeling kinda on edge, like he could go both ways, tears or fists. 

The dude wasn’t too bad either. Laid back, at ease. Looked tough. Not too much emotion.

Dean knew he was pacing more around her than anything else, but she didn’t seem to mind and she waved off some sickly looking Corporal. Dread Dude was lounging near a rock, keeping an eye on him no doubt, but since it was a quiet, non-emotional eye, Dean didn’t care.

If everyone else would just shut up!

The blowback of energy and emotion from Taylor had been intense, sure. Not only had it shattered the tatters of that damn chain, but Dean felt raw and open, like he was bleeding out, leaking emotion and shit all over the place. Usually it took days to reign in all that emotion, but this felt pretty bad and Dean knew he was projecting both his emotions and the feedback from everyone in the vicinity. Made for a lot of headaches. 

He might have actually killed someone.  Probably had.

Shoving that thought aside, not sure, no definitely sure he couldn’t afford to dwell on that, not without imploding or breaking down, Dean picked up the pace, bouncing on his toes a little. Man, he wanted to spar. Hit something, hit someone.  No crying, definitely no crying. 

_ Where in the hell are you, Sam? _

Or run, yeah, run until his legs were burning and his chest was so tight his vision would grey out. Run until he couldn’t feel anything. Yeah. 

“It’d be best to remain here, I think.”

Dean whirled and stared at her. She looked, calm and quiet, an exotic mix of warrior and mother, someone who’d keep you line with love and a swift kick up the backside. Unconsciously folding his arms and sticking his hands in his pits again, Dean stared at her. She smiled back steadily, and said, “I am Teyla, and this is Ronon.” Dread Dude nodded, and Dean grunted in reply.

Now that he was standing still long enough to notice, the grass felt long and soft, and totally wrong. Dean looked down, crunched his toes into the spongy stuff that was just a little too green for comfort, like it was pretending to be green but was red on the inside. Looking up, Dean hugged himself a little tighter as the very light blue sky swam in the hazy heat of two suns.

Shit. Shit. Totally messed up. Barefoot on alien grass. Shit.

“Dean? Your name is Dean, yes?”

Short nod, and Dean swallowed the rising emotion of fear and confusion, trying very hard not think about the fact that he was on an alien planet, alone with a crowd of strangers staring at him. ‘ _Keep it together, Winchester!’_

“I don’t know if you were told, or what you know... but obviously you are no longer on Earth.”

Yeah, figured that one out already. Dean smiled sarcastically at her, Teyla, and bounced on his heels, toes still curled in the grass. “We are on PX 057, or Catastrophe, in the Pegasus Galaxy.”

Teyla was looking at him, no doubt watching for a reaction. And as shocking as it was confirming he wasn’t just on an alien world, but in another galaxy as well, that emotion was kind of lost in the sea of tension and nerves washing over him, from him, through him. Standing still wasn’t helping. He really needed to hit something. Someone.

“You needn’t worry yourself, we will be able to return you to Earth.”

Ha! Dean snorted. No, thanks. Not if it meant going back to T&E. No way. The very thought of going back made his stomach roll and heave with fresh fear. Not good, not good. Don’t think about it, just focus on the here and now. Needing to move, and push that aside, Dean started pacing again, running his hands through his hair, clenching clumps of hair, holding tight, willing his racing heart to calm down, just calm the hell down.

Man, he needed a haircut. Hair was too damn long.

“Dean?”

_ ‘Shit, scaring the nice natives again, Winchester. ‘ _

Teyla didn’t look scared, more concerned and that was harder to take. Ronon the barbarian though, he was easy to look at. Wasn’t worried about him until he flipped out and started killing people with his mind.

Shit.

That brought a stream of memories coloured in emotion, Taylor’s scream as Dean _connected_ , the sensation of Yellow Eyes tearing at his chest...

“Dean.”

How in the hell did she get so close? Dean stepped back hands out stretched grateful for the distraction but needing her away. Teyla stayed were she was. She wasn’t smiling anymore but hell if he could tell what she was feeling. “Will you let me look at your wrists, they are bleeding again.”

A little off topic, Dean looked down and was surprised to find out she was right. Dean lowered his hands, staring at the bloody bandages Taylor had put there.  Thinking of Taylor made his heart pound and chest ache again, so Dean shoved that aside too and thought instead, ‘ _Great, now I look like an emo who tried to off himself.’_

But as Teyla reached out to take his hands, Dean stepped back, out of reach, shaking his head. He was so wide open right now, touching him would hurt. Hurt her. The hug had caught him off guard, but now... now giving him medical attention would be painful... for the medic.  

Teyla stressed with as much sincerity as she could, “I won’t hurt you.”

_ ‘No but I will’ _ . Dean shook his head and wished for the third time that he had pockets to hide his hands in. Teyla’s big ass gun was swinging off her vest. Some boar of a Marine had handed it to her without so much as a second glance and now it swung enticingly in view. ‘ _Yeah think about the gun, focus on the gun.’_ It looked new, a modified FN P90 maybe? Probably a P90 USG. Man, it’d be cool to take that apart.

“Would you like to?”

_ ‘Did he say that out loud, or was she telepathic? _ ’ 

Dean stared at her, trying not to think anything, but naturally when you try not think dirty thoughts it only makes your stream of consciousness a stream of filth. But she didn’t blush or slap him, so maybe she wasn’t telepathic. Just perceptive. And hell yeah, he wanted to take a crack at that gun.

Teyla unhooked the weapon and said, “This is a P90, bullpup design, ambidextrous controls and with revised optic system, 28mm.” She said it like rote, something learned and not really understood. But now Dean really wanted a look. Teyla passed it over and said simply, “No shooting.”

_ ‘Yes ma’am.’  _  Never mind the handing over of a weapon to potential crazy people. It was Christmas time. Dean sank to the ground, ignoring the pull of bruises and strained muscles, folded his legs and sat Indian style. The P90 was straightforward plug and play assembly, and came apart smoothly. Well maintained, clean, oiled. Like a good military weapon should be. 

Assembling was a little trickier, but Dean figured it out and as he broke the weapon down again, he heard more than felt Ronon squat next to him. The big guy watched as he assembled and broke down the gun over and over again, getting faster and faster. The motion and mindless familiarity of a gun in his hands was a balm, a frigging balm of Gilead. 

Ronon watched for a while, then stood up and disappeared. Just as the P90 was getting to be too easy, too practiced, a collection of AKs, KACs, a couple of H&Ks, a battered Colt and few handguns  were plopped in front of him. Squinting up, ignoring the shiver the sight of two suns gave him, Dean stared up at Ronon, who shrugged. Teyla had somehow snuck up on him again, already seated on his left, and Ronon now on his right.

But it didn’t feel penned in, or trapped. It felt... nice. There was an old Desert Eagle in the bunch, an elephant killer. Dean didn’t even touch it. Instead he picked up an innocuous glock and stripped it down, fast. 

At some point in the ritual of breaking down and building up a firearm, repeated over and over, the storm of emotion had quieted down, a buzz of discontent now but it was at the very edge of worrisome. It was easier locking away the memories and emotions, putting them back where they belonged when he had something else to focus on. Ronon was following him, watching him strip a gun and then copy the movements. Teyla was just sitting, watching.

And it was nice.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Taylor had laughed at him for making contingency plans. Augusto knelt quietly among his colleagues, projecting calm reassurance and certainty. Dr Messer, who was young and prone to panic was quivering next to him, muttering a stream of worry over his career, dying on an alien world and just about anything else he could think of.

His core people though were cool, and collected, waiting for his signal and whatever plan he chose to play out. Russo would ensure the scientists were in line, including Messer. Nikolai and Greer had the mercs under control. All they needed was his go ahead… on whichever plan he decided on.

Augusto smiled internally, his outer expression detached. Colonel Sheppard was keeping a close eye on him. The man was no fool. He knew Augusto was still in the game, hell, he even knew there was still a game to play. The Trust were in Pegasus and Sheppard would take that personally.

The only hiccup in Miles Augusto’s plan was Taylor. The idiot had lost control and now all three kinetics were out, maybe permanently. And Dean Winchester was a wildcard. Having been kidnapped and forced to work with the Kinetics, he’d be in no mood to trust Augusto. But, there was still a possibility there. The SGC would send Winchester back to Earth and T&E. So maybe a promise that Winchester could stay out of T&E if he worked for the Trust, would persuade him to throw his hand in with them. Maybe.

First priority though was to confirm if they had indeed been exposed to radiation. Augusto was mature enough to admit that he had got swept up in the excitement of actually cracking the safe and getting the weapon. That character flaw was exactly why he was with the Trust and not still running a successful imports and acquisitions business. But that was what back up plans were for.

A fourth Gate Ship from Atlantis landed and medical staff in hazmat suits emerged. Augusto’s on the fly contingency plan was simple. If they had been exposed, the others would create enough of a distraction for him to reach his tent and send a signal Dumbeni, advising of the loss of the objective. The other Trust teams in Pegasus would have to then reallocate resources.  

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

“You look like a reject from a Sci Fi B-movie, Carson. What in the hell took you so long?” Rodney was drapped over a chair, lounging as only he could, his knee bobbing in perpetual motion of agitation. Carson ambled over, his view obscured by the thick plastic of the hazmat suit visor. Carl and Cho were setting up a scanner from Medical storage designed to isolate and identify radiation. Nurse Zwane had already moved over to the few visibly wounded, her long, lithe figure hidden in the voluminous suit.

Closing the distance to McKay and Sheppard, Carson huffed, “Aye, Rodney. Be that as it may, we got here as soon as we could. Now, Colonel, can you wait while I check on the prone fellows?” He waved in the direction of the three men, apparently Kinetics.

Rodney sat up straight, scanner and tablet clutched tightly, eyes flinty, “What? No, he can’t! And why aren’t you scanning for deadly radiation?”

Without bothering to direct Rodney’s attention to the men at the Jumper, Beckett put down his medkit and sighed, “Because I know how to delegate Rodney. Colonel?”

Sheppard looked awful, his face red and puffy, one eye completely shut. But the bleeding was minimal, although Carson wanted to check the eye behind the swollen lid for damage. And knowing the Colonel, he’d have a few body shots too, bruised ribs at least. Naturally though, Sheppard drawled, “Yes, Carson. I can wait. Go check the ‘prone.’” Sheppard was slouched in his chair, but genuinely looked like he could keep, for now.

Ignoring Rodney’s inarticulate grumblings, Carson waddled over to the three Kinetics, the stiff material of the Hazmat suit crunching and creaking as he went. Ronon’s frantic demand for backup had meant two things. Armed and ready to fight Marines, and no available medic, corpsman for the trip. Hopefully the immediate provision of medical assistance would not have been needed for these three.

Groaning a little as his knees creaked, Carson knelt next to the nearest and bloodiest man. It was a little difficult feeling for a pulse through gloves and a suit, but his medical scanner confirmed his covered fingers. Dead. The guy’s face was covered in blood and Carson would have to do an autopsy to confirm cause and time of death as there was nothing discernable. Not wasting time on the dead, he waved Zwane over to check the third, while he knelt at the second.

This man, blonde and pale, moaned as Carson touched him. His pulse was thready and rapid, breath shallow. Suffering from shock at least, but the severity would be the tricky part. As Carl yelled out, “All clear, sir! No signs of radiation, of any kind,” Carson took off his gloves and checked the man’s pupils. Dilated pupils and his skin was cold and clammy. But other than shock, and bleeding from eyes, nose and ears, there was no visible trauma. “Well, lad. Best get you back to the infirmary and check what happened inside that brain.”

“Doctor?”

Nurse Zwane, her hazmat suit helmet off, looked up at Carson and said briskly, “Unconscious, sir. Hypertensive and suppressed breathing.”

“Ok, let’s get both of them back to Atlantis, and under the scanner. Who knows what’s going on with their brains.” Zwane waved Cho over, signalling she wanted backboards and neck braces. “That one, doctor?”

“Dead, I’m afraid.” She nodded, checking the pulse of her patient again. Carson stood to let Carl take over and he said brightly, “Right, I’ll go wrangle with the Colonel, then. See if I can get him to come back with you.” But Sheppard had been watching the proceedings and as Carson stood, John waved him off, and pointed towards Teyla.

“Ah.” 

Swallowing a jolt of nerves, Carson tore off the hazmat helmet and headed towards the large pile of dissembled guns. Rodney’s voice echoed over the area with embarrassing volume, “Who in the hell gave the PsychoEmpath a gun? Many guns? Are we trying to ...” 

Wincing, Carson shot a concerned glare over his shoulder at McKay, but Sheppard was standing, and had pulled Rodney close. Whatever the Colonel was saying was inaudible but Rodney was going red, and shaking his head.  John looked angry though and the little spectacle had drawn an audience. The prisoners, still on their knees, hands on head were staring at everyone, but especially the Empath. The Marines were watching the prisoners, but shooting concerned glances at Ronon, Teyla and the Empath. Pushing aside his own worries, Carson hurried closer to the trio and returned Teyla’s smile. 

All three stood, the Empath backing off a little, his expression closed. Teyla though reached out and took the medkit from Carson, and said, “Dr Beckett, this is Dean.”

Ronon was staring at the guns, pouting as much as a grown man who could kill you with his hair could, and muttered, “Stupid McKay.” Getting decidedly hot in the suit, Carson let Teyla help him with the neck clasp and replied, “Oh, yes. Rodney doesn’t seem to have developed the sense God gave a gnat, no matter how brilliant he says he is. Ah, thank you, Teyla.”

Opening up the neck of the suit and letting some air in, Carson coughed, “Couldn’t find my own suit in the rush and whoever used this one last ate a crapload of curry, and I mean that.” Teyla and Ronon smiled, but the Empath, Dean, just took another step back. 

“Aye, lad. That’s a good idea, why don’t we step back out of everyone’s eyeline. Modicum of privacy. And some shade.” Beckett smiled and motioned for them to move. It wasn’t much more privacy than before, and as Carson looked behind him he saw that Sheppard had everyone else in motion.

Carl and Zwane were escorting the injured onto the Medi-vac Jumper, and the other prisoners were being divided up into groups. McKay had stalked off to the entrance of the large dome, scowling and stabbing at his tablet. “Right, then. Ronon, Teyla if you’d perhaps give us...”

The spike of fear was sudden, and Carson felt his stomach drop and his heart rate escalate. All three of them blinked and Ronon shook his head, like he was trying to shake it off. Dean coloured slightly but crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. 

“Alright, perhaps just a little space, then.” Teyla looked hesitant but nodded. Ronon though just took two steps back and stayed put. Dean didn’t look hurt, other than signs of bleeding like the Kinetics, but Sheppard had sent him, so Carson tried to project as much reassurance as he could. Empaths were so rare, he’d never even met one before, let alone treated one.

“Dean. I just want to check that you’re ok, not hurt in any way that can’t wait for the Infirmary. You...”

“I’m fine.”

Well, judging by his voice, Dean was anything but fine. Hoarse, hollow, and broken, it sounded like he’d swallowed glass. “Well, you don’t sound fine. I’ll be quick, I promise.”But Dean remained unmoved, the steady stream of anxiety and fear tinged by anger now. And maybe just a little defiance. 

Carson though had years of experience in dealing with reluctant patients, and had honed those skills in Atlantis. And he knew just enough about Empaths and their abilities to say, “You may be worried about hurting me, I understand or probably just tired of being poked and prodded, but I need to be sure you’re not going to collapse on me, ok?”

Dean stared for a moment at them all, shot a glance at the patches of blood in the distance and nodded. Moving fast, but cautiously, Carson stepped forward and Teyla gave him more space. As Carson gently took Dean’s wrist, the prick of pins and needles was sharp but not unexpected. His pulse was steady, a little too fast, but within reason. 

The sensation of pins and needles faded and then surged as Carson checked the bloody bandages, tsking at the dirt and grass stains. “Teyla, be a dear...” Teyla had fresh bandages ready, and Carson efficiently cleaned and rewrapped Dean’s wrists, biting his lip a little at the spikes of pain. It wasn’t too bad, the reciprocal pain, but it was definitely unpleasant. 

Dean’s pupils were a tad dilated and he was probably suffering from low grade shock. Checking a few neurological indicators, Carson was satisfied that there was nothing emergent, at least neurologically. 

Pulling out a stethoscope, Carson held Dean’s bicep gently, took his blood pressure and then listened to his heart. Blood pressure confirmed the low grade shock, but his heart beat was strong. In the cooler shade of the tall white building, they were all sweating less, but the heat of the day was not diminishing, even if noon had passed. Stepping back, smiling a little as he noted the stream of fear had all but evaporated, Carson asked, “Anything else, lad? On the whole you’re ok, but I’d like to do a full exam when we get back.”

Ronon was sitting on the grass, plucking at blades while Teyla watched the Marine’s sort the prisoners. There were too many prisoners for three Jumpers, unless they all squished for the ride home. Zwane and Carl were standing by the Medical Jumper, waiting impatiently. Carson turned at Teyla’s, “Dr Beckett,” and he tapped his radio. “Go ahead, head on back. We can wait.”

They nodded and went inside the Jumper, its long body lifting off the ground smoothly. Dean was watching the Jumper fly off, and Carson said softly, “Well, lad? Anything else to declare?”

Vaguely, Dean waved at his ribs, still watching the Jumper disappear over the City. Carson hmphed, and pointed at the grey t-shirt. “Lift it for us, then.” Absently, Dean did so. Beckett couldn’t help the low whistle. The bruises weren’t deep or red, but they were many, new and old. At Carson’s whistle, Dean looked down, held up his t-shirt some more and shrugged as if to say, ‘Fancy that.’

Carson was always gentle, but ribs and bruises needed firm fingers to determine cracks or breaks. He tentatively reached out to check the deepest, angriest looking one, more purple and green than anything, and snatched his fingers back. The jolt of pain had been sharp, almost hot.

“Sorry,” Dean grated out, but it sounded more like, told you. Looking up from his crouch, Carson said sharply, “You need anything for the pain?”

Dean smiled, sorta sad and sarcastic, “Not ‘less you want ‘em.” Carson blinked, wondering if he heard right and then rolled his eyes. “Ah. I shoot up you with happy juice, we all feel happy.”

“Gotitinone.” 

Straightening, Carson cricked his neck and sighed, “In that case, lad. Cover up and lets head back to Atlantis.”

“Excuse me, where?”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

[ Teaser ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13964.html#cutid1)    [Part 1](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/16636.html)  [Part 2](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/17387.html)   [Part 3](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19226.html)   [Part 4](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19859.html)    [Part 5](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/21147.html)   [Part 6](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/22848.html)   [Part 7](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24140.html)   [Part 8](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24712.html)    [Part 9](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25048.html)   [Epilogue](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)   
  
[ Background blurb ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13216.html#cutid1)

  



	6. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 6/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

  


Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 6/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons, spoilers abound)

Chapter 6

Sheppard slouched in his chair, trying to take some of the pressure off his ribs, but it wasn’t exactly easy when you were faking ‘fine’. Thirty odd prisoners, twenty mercenaries and support staff with eight or so scientists and three Jumpers full of Marines did not make for easy logistics of transporting everyone back to Atlantis. 

They could walk everyone back, but that left a lot of opportunities for someone to try and run, create a diversion and John really wanted to get everyone home before Catastrophe lived up to her name any more. The little man in charge of the Trust expedition, Augusto, was looking just a little too calm and self assured for John’s liking. He did not look like a man in deep shit. Far from it.

With the all clear on the radiation and strict instructions to shut the hell up and stop yelling at the Empath, McKay was over by the shield, glowering. He was acting even more over the top than usual, and sure it was a stressful situation but hardly the worst they had been in. John was putting it down the weirdness of Empaths and Kinetics. McKay, like most people, freaked out at the idea of someone being able to read their emotions and stuff. Although, when he’d had a stint at superpowers, McKay had been blasé about reading thoughts and knowing all, ignoring their concerns. But he’d been facing impending death then, so leeway was required. 

None the less, McKay was banished to Securing Ancient Device Detail until such time as they had an exit strategy that didn’t leave them exposed. Carson seemed to have Dean in hand, partially out of sight in the shade of a building. 

“What about everyone walking back the Gate, in convoy with the Jumpers overhead to deter a break away?” Lorne wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, instead he watching the three Marines search the camp. With everyone else under guard, it was time to see what the Trust had brought along on their own expedition. 

“Maybe. Not too sure though. Prefer it if we could just beam them into a Brig.”

“True, but not an option, sir. In order to transport them back in as few trips as possible, our men would be outnumbered in the Jumpers. Sure it’s a short flight, but those mercs look pretty competent.”

Sheppard sighed, “Walk it is. Lets round everyone up, we can put anything we want to take back to Atlantis in the Jumpers. Time to blow this popsicle stand.”

Lorne nodded and trotted off to arrange things and John contemplated standing up. This was the problem with sitting down when you had bruised ribs, standing up was always an issue. And riding a horse but the last time he’d ridden a horse with bruised ribs, he’d been 16 and had had a fall off his thoroughbred. The ride home had been an agony, and walking probably would have been better.

Now though, he was seriously tempted to ride back in the Jumpers, but he wanted to keep an eye on the Trust mercenaries, and that little Augusto. “Now, how about that eye, Colonel?”

“Shit, Carson. Warn a guy.” Sheppard luckily had caught himself in time, and he heard Beckett’s dry chuckle as the doctor walked around. “Sorry, lad. You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sheppard waved him off but Carson was soon squatting down in front of him and taking his vital signs. John sighed, but let the Doc do his job. “I’ll want to double check those ribs, John. And get that eye scoped.” 

“But I’ll do?”

“Aye, lad you will. We heading back?”

John nodded and let Carson help him stand. Teyla, Ronon and Dean were standing nearby, drawing a few glances from the gathered prisoners. “He ok?”

Carson nodded, “He’ll keep too, at least ‘til at Atlantis.”

 “Alright, you head back to Atlantis with him in the Jumper. We’re gonna hoof it.”

Carson opened his mouth to say something, and Lieutenant Hamma ran over, giving Beckett a short nod. “Sir. We’ve found several long range communication devices and supplies for weeks. They were planning to be here for a while.”

“Get what you can of interest on a Jumper. We’ll send another detail back to secure everything else, and the ship.”

“Yes, sir.” Hamma ran off, signalling for the Marines on his detail to start packing the Jumper. Lorne was signalling that they were ready, the prisoners in groups of four or six, ready to head out. Sheppard gave him the go ahead, and Jumpers 2 and 3 lifted off to provide air support.  The impromptu ‘prisoner’ drive was off, the Marines urging their charges forward. Carson snagged Sheppard’s arm and drawled, “I think you’d do well to ride back in the Jumper too, Colonel.”

Shaking his head was out of the question, so John smiled, “Got a passel of varmints to keep an eye on, Doc.” Beckett looked at him in concern, no doubt wondering where the cowboy jargon was coming from. But thinking of his old horse, Partner, had stirred memories of wanting to be a cowboy, riding the range, drawing on outlaws. Blinking at Carson slowly, John figured he’d be in for an extensive neurological exam when they got back if Carson knew about scrambled his thoughts were, but he had the walk to the Gate to settle his noggin. 

Carson’s concern did not diminish, even as he said, “I think we’ll be walking with you, Colonel. Our young Empath over there is not keen to take a Jumper back. Really not keen.”

“Oh?” Sheppard asked, turning to look at the trio. Ronon was a walking armoury, draped with a variety of guns, Sergeant Jones sharing the load. Teyla was talking quietly to Winchester, pointing at the Jumper, her expression earnest. Dean though was shaking his head, equally earnest, far more determined. Figuring he’d have to have another chat to Ronon about spoils of war, Sheppard shrugged, “It’s been a long day and the walk ain’t too bad. Let’s go, before something else happens.”

“Oh, tell me you didn’t just tempt fate, Sheppard!” Rodney had stalked over, but barely gave John time to respond before he snarled, “Are we going or not?”

“Head on out, McKay.”

But as John turned to do so, he caught a glimpse of Winchester’s bare feet. A person looked oddly vulnerable barefoot, like all the shoe wearing people were walking invitations to step on his toes. It was a long way back to the Gate and not something to do barefoot. Teyla caught his look and nodded, and sure enough, Sergeant Kim came running over, a pair of boots and socks in his hands.

“Hope it fits, sir.” Winchester looked surprised and pleased and everyone felt a little lighter, less nervous. McKay huffed at the delay, but Dean was set to go quickly, looking alot less like a stray they had picked up and more ... dangerous, if that was possible.

“Now can we go?” 

John smiled, resisting the urge to hold his ribs and made a ‘round ‘em up’ motion with his hand, “This cattle drive is a go.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

When Teyla told him about the portal through the stars, a Star Gate, Dean hadn’t known what think, or expect. He’d conjured up a few images of some sort of machine, a ‘Toll Gate’ with flashing lights and a massive power source, something stretching up to the stars, a line of space ships queuing to go through. 

The walk through the forest had been weird, a place of lost civilization, trees in straight rows, path paved by long dead people, the silence heavy and oppressive, ancient memories buried in the roots and soil of the trees. The City had been less oppressive, quieter but more peaceful. The forest though was alive, a living memory of what once was. There were no ghosts in the city, but the forest _felt_ sad, lonely. Dean shoved that emotion aside though, giving the forest an absent _pat_ _on the_ _head_ as it were. There, there, you big alien thing you.   

As the column of people slowed, the Gate came into view and Dean snorted. In all fairness, the ‘Gate’ was a little underwhelming. Big ass metal circle. Whoopdeedoo. The blocky space ships were more impressive, especially now as they hovered overhead in the limited space between the trees. Impressive, but there was no way in hell he was getting into something that flew without wings. Hell, even things with wings were a no go. 

When the Gate activated, lights flashing, and there was a massive explosion of space water, Dean revised his opinion to ‘pretty cool’. Teyla was smiling at him and Dean couldn’t help grinning back. Ok, it was pretty damn cool! The long line of people was getting shorter as Marines shoved the arguing or reluctant through the portal, some acting casual or nonchalant. The general feeling in the air was anticipation, mixed with nerves.  

Sheppard was talking on the radio, looking pale underneath the bruises and blood, but his voice was clear, certain, “Yeah, big surprise, sir. The Trust in Pegasus. No, I agree. Stick them in the holding cells.” He rolled his eyes and shot a look at Carson, “Yes, sir. The Marines understand the Geneva convention. I am sure there was no retaliation, the guy probably tripped. I’m fine. Straight to the infirmary, understood. Happy to leave the questioning to you, sir.”

McKay, inching his way to the Gate yelled over his shoulder, “Tell Woolsey about the Empath, Sheppard.”

Distracted from the sight of people slipping through a shiny portal and not appearing on the other side, Dean felt his heart rate bounce, and couldn’t help the jolt of concern. Teyla smiled reassuringly and Sheppard waved McKay off. “Yes, sir. Lorne’s correct. Three Kinetics and an Empath. Agreed. Clear the Gateroom as much as possible. Just in case. Straight to the Infirmary with me. Yes, sir. Check in with you later.”

It was a strange feeling, knowing they were preparing for his reaction, whatever it was,after going through a weird space portal. It was good that they were aware that his emotions would be projected all over the place but shit, Dean hated not being in control. It wasn’t their fault he was leaking all over, but it only made the big ass sign of ‘Look, an Empath! Beware!’ all the more prominent, with flashy lights and sirens. 

“You need not worry, Dean. All will be well.”

And man alive did Dean hate that he was an open book like this. No matter how controlled his expression was, everyone knew what he was feeling and that sucked ass. 

The three jumpers went through the Gate and then it was just them. Sheppard ambled over, his face even worse now, puffy and purple. “It’s a cake walk, really. A little cold at first, but seriously, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Dean nodded and followed Teyla towards the shimmering Gate. It was massive up close, the vibration of power and potential hair-raising. Dean _poked_ at the portal absently, not really expecting to get anything and he didn’t. The shimmering surface was bathing everything in blue light and whispered of adventures and possibilities. “Awesome,” Dean whispered to himself, took a deep breath and stepped through. 

It was over too quickly. When the Gate ‘plopped’ him out the other side, Dean half twisted to head back for another trip. It was the shortest, most awesome rollercoaster in the world. No, scratch that, universe. Dean felt electrified, adrenalin surging, the images of space and speed and light filling his head. Brushing aside the cold, Dean smiled and wanted to ‘whoop’.  Just as Teyla ‘plopped’ out next to him, distracting him from trying to go back through, Dean _felt_ Atlantis. Compared to the dead city on Catastrophe, Atlantis was bursting with life.

Dean usually hated big cities, the all-encompassing array of emotion nauseating in its intensity. Atlantis though was awash with a steady beat of life, laughter and warmth. She was all blues and green with pinpoints of yellow and red light. There was the sound of an ocean outside, the taste of salt in the air but most of all the happy beat of people doing what they loved, content and excited. And there was enough exasperation, frustration and anger to salt what would have been cloying sweetness. 

The small hand that took his was cool and pleasant and Dean barely acknowledged the tug to get moving. The swirl of emotion added to the rush his first trip in space and the growing euphoria of being free was mindblowing. All rolled into one and Dean was riding a sea of happiness and excitement. 

Glomping along in his boots, feeling more like himself in months, years, Dean stared at everything as Teyla tugged him along, the ultimate tourist, gawking at everything, _feeling_ everything. It was sunset on Atlantis and as they passed the odd window, the ocean was a flat blaze of light and orange and deeper blue. Ronon, Sheppard and McKay felt relaxed, happy, home. People they passed, the Marines on their tail, everyone felt happy and curious, and content. 

The infirmary was the eye to the storm. As Carson pushed open the doors and Teyla guided him through, the room was quiet peace after the adrenalin and pace of the rest of the City. There was an undertone of sadness, hurt and death in the room, which was why Dean usually hated hospitals. They reeked of antiseptic, despair and grief. This room had that too, but to a smaller degree, balanced with hopes and excitement and joy. 

It was all just a little too much.

“Sit. Here.”

A gun was shoved into his hands as he sat. It was an H&K, a crap one at that. Dirty, stiff and hard used. Dean looked up into Teyla’s ocean of calm, her face clear, eyes warm. The gurney under his butt felt firm and clean. Dean inhaled deeply, tried to clear his mind, build up those walls he needed to stop being a walking Emo of Leakage. The gun was tempting, but what was more distracting was Teyla’s hand on his knee. 

His ribs were a fierce unrelenting ache, and had been for days, ever since Durrant’s first kinetic blow while they were still aboard the spaceship. That trip was a blur and a memory Dean refused to examine at all. He had the headache from Hell and knew that between the bruises, ribs and pounding migraine, touching him should be hurting her. But she was smiling reassuringly, not moving her hand. So either she was immune, a sadomasochist or ... 

“You are not hurting me.”

Dr Beckett joined them, the rest of their injured entourage already squared away on their own gurneys. A tiny Asian nurse was poking at Ronon, urging him to sit on the gurney. McKay was grumbling from behind a curtain and Sheppard was cautiously sitting down, or rather up onto a gurney, an odd expression on his face.

And now that he was not wrapped up in his own emotions, Dean could feel the sharp bite of a Kinetic. Two Kinetics. Looking over to the other side of the room, the beds were turned away from him, but Dean _felt_ the muted, unconscious presence of Taylor and Hughes. 

Teyla’s hand on his clenched fist was again enough of a distraction to stop the surge of fear and anger and she said quietly, “They cannot hurt you. Not only because they are unconscious but also because we would not let them.”

A cute Doctor, her hair tied up in a neat pony tail smiled at him as she closed the curtain around Sheppard’s bed but McKay groused loudly, “Ah, come on, Jennifer. Don’t leave me to Nurse Ratchet.”

Nurse Ratchet, a pleasant looking German lady didn’t seem too happy with the arrangements either as she pushed aside the curtains to McKay. Teyla though was smiling and said in a for his ears only volume, “Rodney and Jennifer are a couple and as such she refuses to treat him anymore. Rodney is a ... difficult patient.”

Impressed and amused, Dean let her distract him, trying to ignore the worry in the corner of his mind that was two ‘alive’ Kinetics. Carson though was ready and was looking at Dean and Teyla, although more Teyla’s hand on Dean’s fist. “It doesn’t bother you, lass?”

Teyla shook her head, “It does not. In fact, I don’t feel anything more than I would normally.”

Musing, Beckett tapped his lips with a hand, “Perhaps your Wraith DNA?”

Eyebrows beetling in confusion, Dean looked at Teyla, who nodded, “Most likely.” She noted Dean’s curiosity and said, “The Wraith are the scourge of this galaxy. A race who once experimented on my people.”

“Aliens?” Dean croaked and Beckett nodded. “More accurately a branch of humanity that got mixed up in the evolution on the Iratus Bug. Fascinating study.”

Ronon snorted in anger off to the side, while McKay laughed, “Only to you, Carson. Everyone else just wishes they hadn’t gotten funky with alien bugs.”

“Stop talking about alien bugs,” Sheppard coughed, sounding like he was in pain. Dean though was looking at Teyla who said quietly, “There is a lot to explain, yes. But perhaps later.” To this Beckett nodded and looked up to meet Dean’s curious gaze and sighed happily, “No offense, lad, but I wasn’t looking forward to this. So if you don’t mind Teyla helping me out.”

Dean smiled. A hot alien chick, no matter her DNA, helping him undress and touch him? Why would he mind? So while Carson closed their curtains, Teyla divested herself of her tac vest and equipment. At some point on their journey to the infirmary she’d lost her P90. Dean’s busted H&K was put on the tray next to the bed, hands were washed and a portable medical scanner brought over.

Gently, Teyla helped Dean take off his shirt, and pants, leaving him in boxers. Getting back up onto the gurney was easier with her help and Carson was soon directing her cool, certain hands in examining his ribs. The sensation of someone checking for cracks, determining the extent of injury reminded Dean so strongly of Sam, of the last time his brother had checked an injury that Dean felt a surge of homesickness. It had been after Gordon tried to bite him, and his brother had been swift and angry as he checked the bite marks. 

“Are you alright, Dean. Did that hurt?”

Closing his eyes, locking away that memory, Dean nodded quietly, “Yeah.”

“Definite crack then, or close to one. You need to get some meat on those bones, son.”

Not even bothering to correct with his usual ‘I ain’t your son’ Dean nodded. He knew he’d lost weight and muscle. Constant nausea and pain would dent even his appetite. But the nausea was distant now, the pain familiar hurt and not deep aching shock. 

Teyla was quick and professional and Dean enjoyed what he could of having a woman touch him with gentleness and certainty, even as she checked out his injuries. But the ribs and bruises where the worst of it. Sick thing was, as much as Kinetics liked to hurt him, they tended to take care of him as well. 

Wrists re-bandaged, Carson ran the portable scanner over Dean, focusing on his head and brain. “Just want to make sure there are no bleeds and trauma. You don’t present any indications but Dr Biro tells me that both the Kinetics show bleeding on the brain. She may even have to go in and stop it.”

Don’t bother, let them die. Dean didn’t verbalise that thought, kept it to himself, and focused on Teyla’s hands, now undoing a long bandage. At Beckett’s nod, she indicated for Dean to lift his arms, so that she could wrap his ribs. He did so with a bare grimace and she closed the distance, her hands now warm, and oh so wonderful. Carson opened the curtain for some air, the ocean breeze bracing. 

 The images though of Taylor’s smile as he _tugged_ at the chain, and Durrant’s grin as he wiped away blood from his nose were fresh and urgent. Durrant was dead. Taylor was in a coma. And still Dean could _feel_ their delight and happiness, even as he fought and heaved and told them ‘hell, no’.

“That is an interesting tattoo,” Teyla mused, going for distracting and succeeding as Dean looked down at his own chest. The protection sigil was dark against his pale chest, a symbol of a life lost, a brother removed.

From off to the side, already cleared and lounging around in the lazy slouch of the perpetually on guard, Ronon quipped, “Is it a tramp stamp?”

Everyone laughed, snapping Dean out of being alone and back to being surrounded by people, Sheppard’s odd bark echoing behind the curtains of his cubicle. Rodney, still waiting for test results, stuck his head around his privacy curtain and said, “Hardly. Looks more a like a drunken lapse in common sense.”

Dean just smiled, and lifted his arm higher so that Teyla could continue to warp a nice tight bandage around his ribs. Her face hidden from everyone but him, she sighed, “Rodney, I seem to recall a night on Arnger when after a great deal of Sama wine, you agreed to ....” 

McKay coloured, a nice salmon pink and he cut her off, “How the hell was I supposed to know their language had no gender! And why do you insist on bringing that up?” Teyla was smiling, her eyes crinkled in mirth, a look of mischief barely contained and she looked at Dean even as she said, “Because you make it easy, Rodney.”

“Hey, that’s my line!” a strained Sheppard grunted, no doubt getting his own bruised ribs probed, or his face seen to. 

“And you keep kissing men, McKay.”

Salmon now beet, Rodney squawked, “Twice, Ronon. Twice! Once with another consciousness in my head, a woman I might add and the other time in the Pegasus version of Bangkok!” He was glowering at Ronon with all the fury of the embarrassed indignant. Beckett was also oddly pink, studiously studying the scanner.

“What’s a Bangkok? Sounds interesting.”

Rodney was now bright red, and Dr. Keller was laughing next door with Sheppard, who said with a bitten off laugh, “Stop teasing him, Chewy. He’s going to going to get an aneurysm ... again.”

Scrambling off the gurney and tearing the curtain aside, Rodney jabbed a finger at the unseen John Sheppard, “It was an acute migraine, Sheppard! It could have been an aneurysm, Jennifer said so. I was just lucky it wasn’t what with having to work with you clowns! Anyone with half a brain would implode trying to deal with you!” 

Rodney stalked off, glaring at Ronon as he did, who waved as he passed. John’s breathless laughter trailed off in his wake. Teyla tucked in the end of the wrap and sighed, “They are not always so, I think today was a little... more than expected.”

Carson, who was checking the scan results next to them, guffawed loudly, “Ha! Don’t believe her, lad. They’re always like this. It’s when they’re not you have to be worried.”

“I’d be offended, Carson, but it’s too much effort,” Sheppard, sounding drowsy and exhausted.

“I still don’t know what a Bangkok is.” Ronon was standing now, perhaps watching for the return of McKay or just bored. “All done, Carson,” Teyla said, stepping back.

Dr Beckett turned and smiled, “Aye, well done, Teyla. Well, Dean your scans are clear. Granted I don’t have a base line for you but luckily the scanner was designed for a people with a tendency towards mental abilities and it hasn’t flagged anything.”

Dean nodded, feeling very ... peaceful. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Teyla smiled and Dean wryly acknowledged that that smile was enough of a distraction by itself. Now, he just needed some food. Lots of food.

Carson smiled and said, “You are probably hungry.” Checking his watch he said, “The mess hall should still have some dinner and I know the walking stomach over there needs feeding, so how about we send Ronon down to fetch us slap up meal?”

Music to Dean’s ears, and Ronon’s judging by his smile. “Wait, I’ll come too...” Sheppard drawled but there was no movement and Jennifer clucked her tongue. “No, you are staying here, Colonel. That eye needs to rest, your ribs need to stay still and in general you need a good night’s sleep.”

The pout was audible, “Come on, doc.”

Jennifer emerged from the cubicle, opening the curtains and Sheppard was flat on his back, boneless and happily high on the good stuff. “Stay, Colonel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ronon was gone though, the doors rocking in his passage. Jennifer pulled the curtain back and sighed, “I’ll go try track down Rodney.”

Sheppard though just waved her off, content to lie still after all. “You do that, Doc. Go assuage the mighty ego. We’ll be here. Resting.”

Dean didn’t feel like resting, but he felt a lot calmer and the promise of food was ... heaven.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Deep in the bowels of Atlantis, Augusto waited for his turn to be questioned. Richard Woolsey was questioning the scientists one by one, himself, no doubt hoping that the lesser minions of the Trust would let vital information slip. Information he could use as leverage with him. Woolsey was a formidable lawyer and had surprised a lot of people by sticking it out on Atlantis as long as he had.

Augusto though had no intention of staying long enough for Woolsey to weasel information out of him. The SGC personnel of Atlantis may have patted them all down for weapons and items of interest, but they had missed the small communicator Miles had hidden.

Nikolai and the mercenaries were in a different holding cell, but they were ready for his signal. Augusto was in the same cell as the scientists and support staff, their cook slash quartermaster and pilot. Russo had the scientists in hand, reassuring them that the SGC would treat them well, that there would be no torture. The fact that two of their colleagues had been taken for questioning first did not help the matter.

Keeping his movements small, unseen, Miles connected the communicator pieces together and sent the signal. He’d told Nikolai and Russo that Plan R was in effect. They would be ready. And Taylor? Well, Augusto was happy to write the Kinetics off as a loss. But if they could grab the Empath on their way, or persuade him, they would.

Augusto lent back on the thick bar, confident in his plan. Somewhere in Atlantis a receiver was flashing and their mole would be acting. All he had to do was wait.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

[ Teaser ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13964.html#cutid1)    [Part 1](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/16636.html)  [Part 2](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/17387.html)   [Part 3](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19226.html)   [Part 4](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19859.html)    [Part 5](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/21147.html)   [Part 6](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/22848.html)   [Part 7](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24140.html)   [Part 8](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24712.html)    [Part 9](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25048.html)   [Epilogue](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)   
  
[ Background blurb ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13216.html#cutid1)

  



	7. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 7/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 7/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons, spoilers abound)

Chapter 7

The sounds of someone humming offkey roused Dean and he blinked and squinted against the bright early morning sunlight. The infirmary was quiet with the soft murmurs of nurses and patients, the smell of breakfast in the air. Dean rolled over, stretching lazily but mindful of his ribs, the sharp pull of protesting muscles. He looked up at the high ceiling, dark blue like the night sky. He didn’t have a window, but the one in the Colonel’s section was open. There were no seagulls, no birds at all outside, none of the old Earth clichés. It didn’t sound like the seaside and Atlantis wasn’t rocking in the swell of the ocean like some pleasure cruise, but it felt very far from home. Atlantis. What he wouldn’t give to see Sam’s face when he found out.

A balding man was talking with the Colonel, their voices low but as Dean lay there, he listened in. True to Murphy’s Law, the moment he did, he realised they were talking about him.

“My interrogation sessions have confirmed your theory, Colonel. He was a prisoner, kidnapped from Earth. So I agree, it would not do to incarcerate him with them.”

Dean’s skin crawled at the idea of being lumped in with the prisoners. Sheppard’s words did a lot of calm his nerves but not entirely. “I’d say it’d be damn idiotic, sir. Whether they were the ones abusing him or not, they were complicit.”

Not wanting to alert them to his eavesdropping, Dean didn’t turn to look at them. He didn’t need to see their faces to tell what they were feeling. Woolsey said calmly, “If anything we have an obligation to protect him.”

Huh? Dean pursed his lips. Protect? He could damn well take care of himself. Usually.

Woolsey continued, “I share your concern that there is more going on here than an expedition. They have ships with intergalactic hyperdrives. That alone is worrying. What if they ran into the Wraith? Earth would be at risk. And they are well prepared and stocked. They even abducted an Empath and that takes planning. It feels... big. We need to be cautious.”

Sheppard sounded relaxed, for the topic, and said, “I am more than worried. I feel like we’ve stumbled onto something huge, dangerous. For us and Earth.”

Woolsey hmmed in agreement and Dean could hear him shuffle his feet. He _felt_ worried, anxious. “Then we are agreed. I will return to questioning the prisoners. Mr Winchester will remain in your custody. I have a scheduled dial in to the SGC later this morning. My coded message will be sent to a secure recipient. We can’t take any chances. Hopefully the SGC will be able to root out their mole, before word leaks back to the Trust.”

Belatedly, caught up in eavesdropping and the men’s emotions, Dean realised there was a stream of amused watchfulness from next to him and he looked over to see Ronon in a chair, boneless and relaxed. A guard? Before the spike of anger could solidify, Ronon straightened now that Dean’s attention was on him and said, “Hungry?”

Dinner last night had been awesome. Burgers and fries. The meat on the bun hadn’t been beef, too gamey for cow but so delicious. The fries were too dense for potato, but two burgers later and an entire conversation, mostly Teyla, about Human Ancients, Stargates and alien space vampires, Dean had fallen asleep with a full stomach. McKay’s snooze fest on the physics of wormholes had been the push off the cliff of unconsciousness he needed. The man could talk nonstop. About anything.

The thought of breakfast was a signal to his stomach, and it growled like dinner had been days ago, not hours. Ronon smiled. The H&K was still on the tray next to him, and Dean remembered Teyla’s smile and promise and figured even if Ronon was his guard, he was better of ... so far. 

So Dean growled verbally as well, “Hell, yeah.” Ronon stood, looking like he’d happily hunt down breakfast and slaughter it if need be. Woolsey and Sheppard had concluded their discussion and as Woolsey left, he nodded at Dean. Sheppard was inching his way off his bed, a little shaky but faking fine. He made his way over and Dean sat up, unable to stop the worry that blossomed inside. _Get a grip, Winchester._

Ronon drawled lazily, “You look like shit.”

And Sheppard did. One eye was still swollen shut, and his mouth looked red and raw, lip scabbed over. Bruised and stiff, his smile was more a grimace and brief, but Sheppard said brightly, “So no different than usual?” Turning more to Dean, he sighed, “You probably heard all that?”

Dean nodded. Sheppard shrugged, barely, “Well, when you feel up to it, any intel you got – any – would be appreciated. But after breakfast. I could eat a horse... Let’s book it before Carson figures out our plan.”

No one offered to help Dean off the bed, for which he was grateful. He really didn’t like being touched – hot alien chicks aside. He was wearing scrubs, as was Sheppard and Ronon tossed them both loose BDU tops. Refusing to acknowledge the worry of meeting people, of being in a big room with lots of eyes and whispers, Dean focused on the promise of food, and being free.

It was enough.

Sheppard and Ronon led the way, talking quietly, letting Dean set the tourist pace. The corridors, wide and narrow, were quiet, so it was either very early or very late. Did Atlantis have a 24 hour day? Longer or shorter?What year was it here? Did they have a time difference to Earth? Was it winter or summer, or neither? Letting the questions flow, content to stare and wonder, Dean followed along quietly, nodding at the odd person who passed them. Turned out it was late, the mess hall was empty, the kitchen running low.

But being the Boss meant fresh eggs, hot crispy bacon whipped up and toast prepared. And being with the Boss meant there were no questions. Teyla was waiting for them at the large table, and something sad and disappointed settled inside Dean when he saw the toddler perched on her lap. Whatever ridiculous notions and hopes he had of getting laid dried up. His dry spell was going to last just that little bit longer. The kid was cute, sure, but loud and was bashing a spoon on a bowl of porridge.

There were other women on Atlantis though and Dean weighed his disappointment against the possibility of a one night stand with a hot Marine Chick and reckoned he had good odds. There were all sorts of rumours about Empaths he could capitalise on with an adventurous woman. And considering the women on Atlantis were a billion light years from home, they were pretty damn adventurous as is. All was not lost.

Sheppard ambled over to her table, smiling at both mother and son, “Hey, squirt. You giving your mom grief?”

Teyla smiled, “Grief, no. But meals should not take two hours. His porridge is now cold.”

“But that’s the best way to have porridge, mom!” Sheppard whined, poking a finger at the kid’s stomach, making him giggle. “That way your missiles of porridge doom fly a lot further.”

“Don’t give him ideas, John.”

As Ronon brought over two heavy trays loaded with food, Dean sat down gingerly next to Sheppard. His own spike of disappointment had masked the stream of emotion from Sheppard, and it was only as he packed away his own, with promises of future conquests, that Dean noticed. Noticed the longing ‘want’ from Sheppard. 

It wasn’t lust, or love, or even hurt. Just longing. Dean’d have to _feel_ it out, go for depth if he was going to figure out if it was Teyla, or the kid or just the idea of family that had Sheppard pining. But that emo crap was off limits as far as he was concerned. Just because he could do it, didn’t mean he should. For months Sam had made his own stomach roil with want every time a blonde chick walked past after Jessica’s death. Oh, Dean couldn’t wait to get his walls 100% again. 

Luckily the food was hot and distracting enough for both Dean and Sheppard. Ronon came back with his own tray, top heavy and ridiculous in its portions. Sheppard picked up a long greasy streak of bacon and chomped happily, making the kid smile and giggle again. Teyla swiftly used the distraction to insert another mouthful. 

“Good, huh?” Sheppard said to the kid. 

And it was good, Dean thought. The eggs were odd, but fantastic, light and fluffy. The bacon was more fried ham than anything else, and had a different taste. A good taste. The toast and maple syrup though were pieces of home, thick and sticky.

The distraction of two Uncles making faces at him was enough that the kid finished his bowl of cold oats. Teyla let him bash away on the empty bowl, sipping her coffee. Dean was staring at her cup with real greed when McKay plopped his own tray on the formica and sat down with a “Took you long enough!”

Sheppard mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “First or second?”

McKay looked up from empting a second sugar packet into his coffee and said, “What, breakfast?”

“Yes,” John sighed, mopping yolk with his toast. McKay declined to answer, sipping his coffee with feigned indifference. Sheppard rolled his eyes, “What, you emulating hobbits, now Rodney?”

Dean and Ronon grinned, while Teyla rescued her boy’s spoon from ending up in Ronon’s eggs. McKay huffed, and started to eat, replying around mouthfuls of food. “First, I am going to ignore that. Second, Sam and Frodo saved the day, the world! And third, your hair looks like rats have evicted the birds and built a condo.”

Sheppard idly patted his long hair, trying to flatten it, not looking entirely bothered. McKay bit out, “Isn’t it time you got it cut? I seem to recall some regulation, somewhere?”

Ronon threw back his long dreads, as if daring anyone to regulate him but Sheppard deadpanned, “I’m waiting to see how long it takes Landry to say something, or for his twitch to spread to his mouth. Or for the Marines to take matters into their own hands. Again.”

Running a hand through his own longer than he liked hair, Dean continued to watch the two cups of coffee with silent longing, steadily decimating his pile of food. “Ha!” McKay exclaimed, “More like you’re too lazy to go see Sergeant Hair.”

“O’Hare, McKay.”

McKay jabbed a maple syrup’ed bacon streak at Sheppard and laughed, “You don’t give a man named O’Hare barber shop duty and not expect the Sergeant Hair jokes. I personally think you did it on purpose. It’s probably why you haven’t gone, yet. The man can’t even buzzcut Marines to save his life. Last Jarhead I saw looked like a demented hamster had gnawed on his hair.”

Sheppard declined to answer, cleaning his plate instead with the last of his toast. A large cup of steaming, hot black coffee plopped itself down in front of both Sheppard and Dean. Winchester looked up a Ronon, who was daring him to smile with a ‘I did it because you Earthlings are weak and pathetic’ look. 

Hell, who cared about Teyla! Ronon was the new love of his life! Dean sipped the hot liquid, uncaring that it was too hot, almost too bitter and thick. It was heaven in a cup. He purred, “Man, I missed you. Thanks, dude.”

A general air of contentment settled over them all and Sheppard sipped his own cup, quietly raiding Rodney’s pile of sugar packets. He was watching Torren munch on a stolen piece of toast from Rodney’s plate as he said, “So, you up for a chat?”

Dean nodded, more than happy to spill whatever beans he had. They weren’t a lot, but hopefully they’d help.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

_ Dr Lars Vuuren, Personal Log No 473: _

_ This will be my last entry for a while as I have had to either postpone or terminate all of my current experiments in order to deal with an emergent crisis. I rather overdramatically feared that this day would come as in the course of my life things have never run smooth. My marker is being called and I must render assistance to some ‘colleagues’ I would not otherwise acknowledge.  _

_ I made contact with Mr Red in the holding cells last night and have proceeded as instructed. In the next few hours he will have his distraction. I however, have covered my bases. This personal log will be deleted from the Atlantis mainframe, and a copy placed in my backup kit. All other vital information and research into nanites and AI has either been burned or copied into the same backup.  _

_ I plan on being severely injured in the ensuing chaos, thus assuring that my part in this debacle is never known and as Mr Red only knows me as Four 1, and did not see my face, I feel confident that my bases are covered. _

_ The Trust may have pulled a few strings to get me and my research onto Atlantis, but my loyalty is to no one, least of all the Trust. I personally hope that Colonel Sheppard stops them cold. And dead. Very dead. And lets the Wraith have them.  _

_ Wish me luck, Four 2. _

_ Close _

-<Entry deleted>-

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Rodney was getting just a little tired of all the whispering. The rumour mill on Atlantis was unparalleled in speed and accuracy, even compared to Siberia. With such a limited population and source for speculation, gossip and slander it was inevitable that the grape vine often outstripped the comm. The further away from home you where, the more there was to gossip about.

Naturally recent events had everyone abuzz, an actual Trust op in Pegasus, actual Kinetics, an actual Empath. No matter how confidential Woolsey may have wanted to keep everything, all it took was one Marine who owed someone a favour, a determined hacker (or system administrator) and the cat was not only out of the bag, but it was down the street, stealing milk and yowling at the neighbours.

Damn, Rodney missed his cat.

It didn’t help that the Empath, Dean, looked like well... that. All handsome and rugged and in need of a good meal. Like a stray cat. Usually Zelenka was right there with him in despairing over their colleagues’, male and female, need for juicy gossip. But today everyone, including Zelenka, were huddled over a tablet with illegal security feed of you know who and Rodney had had enough.

“Enough!”

See, enough.

Standing to his impressive ‘but only amongst this crowd’ height, McKay slammed down his coffee cup, ignoring the wave of precious liquid that spilled over onto his notes and yelled, “This is not E! On Atlantis and you have work to do! Important Planet Saving Work! Ok, not so much you, Dr Grant, but really, could you be more redundant? Not the point! Get back to work!”

Reluctantly, like nerds leaving a comic book sale with only half of the missing issues they wanted, the white coats parted and returned to their important work, bar Dr Grant who left in a huff. Rodney sat down with practiced calm, refusing to be annoyed about the coffee, ignoring the death glares and/or looks of adoration.

“What alien bug crawled up your butt, Rodney?” Zelenka appeared at his elbow with the stealth of a hobbit and damn Sheppard for making him think in LOTR metaphors! McKay swivelled on his stool and stared down his nose at the Czech. “Oh, so you don’t think that a bunch of grown men and women sniggering and giggling like twelve year olds about some halfwit c-list wannabe is appropriate?”

Zelenka shrugged, “No matter your disdain, Rodney, most of us non-Americans have never even seen an Empath’s picture, let alone one in person. You can be as dismissive as you usually are, and we are perhaps a little too excited, but it does not change the fact that Dean Winchester is fascinating.”

McKay humphed and returned to his simulations, deigning to respond. Zelenka stared at McKay, then stared at his screen and the coffee spill. Sighing, Radek shook his head, hair flying around. “Perhaps if you were not so overly concerned over innocent gossip, you would have noticed that that Z should have been an N.”

Glaring at both screen and Czech, McKay snarled in denial but hastily corrected his error. Swivelling again to lambast Zelenka and reduce him to tears or apoplexy, whichever came first, Rodney opened his mouth just as Dr Misaki ran past the open door to the lab screaming, “Replicators!” And Sheppard said he had Flappy Hands of Doom! Ha!

His cry of ‘Replicators, Replicators’ echoed down the corridor and as good, well trained civilians aboard an often dangerous alien city, the lab cleared swiftly out of the other door. But as well trained leaders, busy bodies and know it alls, Zelenka and McKay ran for the door, towards the supposed replicators.

“Why in the hell doesn’t that moron use his comm?” McKay yelled, even as he tapped his. Turning the corner, his cool, smooth, in control report to Control turned into a squeak of, “Shit! Milkyway Replicator Bugs!”

The corridor, walls and ceilings were covered in the skittering machines, all heading for Rodney and Rodney’s lab. Zelenka was retreating, jabbering his own report to Control but McKay had the presence of mind to switch to the command comm. and yell, “Sheppard! Get your scrawny butt up here! I am not losing my lab!”

AR weapons had limited use on the damn things unless you managed to get them all in one shot. Hard, live ammunition was the next best bet, but Rodney had neither AR weapons or machine guns in the lab. So, in desperation, Rodney closed the door to the lab, just as the first replicator bug reached it.

Making a mental note to insist on all labs being stocked with mini armouries, McKay backed away from the door as the Replicators began to eat their way through. As fascinating as it was to note that these Replicators were bluish in colour, like the walls of Atlantis, Rodney looked around the lab for something to throw at them. No way was he backing down. This would be his Thermopylae, although with less pronounced abdominal muscles. His Alamo, but a Canadian vs Horde of Replicators. His...

As Rodney struggled to think of another famous last stand that wasn’t Custer, because he refused to utilise the American cliché, Ronon arrived. With Dean Winchester in tow.

On the upside they had guns. On the down side, Winchester had a gun.

“Code Red Underpants is code for Alien Space Bugs?” Dean said to Zelenka, who looked flustered at the arrival of his mini-man crush.

Check that, they didn’t just have guns, they had big damn machine guns and Rodney wanted one. “Less chatter, start shooting. Save the research!”

Ronon never needed to be asked twice to shoot something and he let rip with his usual accuracy. The sound was intense in the small room, the flash and smell of carbine rank. Winchester was pretty good too and their concentrated fire on the door beat the bugs back, leaving one huge gaping hole and several dozen smaller ones. And a lot of Replicator blocks.

Ears ringing in the silence, Rodney stood up from behind his station, laptop in his arms and he yelled, “Nice! Deafen me some more, Conan!”

Ronon cleared the chamber, slammed in another clip and smiled. Zelenka stood up from behind his own impromptu cover and he was still jabbering away on the radio. Rodney poked at an ear with one hand and yelled, “Where’s Sheppard and Marines? And why is Mr Feelings running around with an M4?”

Dean flipped him off even as he grinned wildly, but Ronon answered, “You weren’t the first Replicator report. Comms are iffy, citywide is down. Sheppard is arming everyone, the space bugs are everywhere.”

Nodding and shaking his head, in agreement, denial and trying to clear his hearing, McKay shouted, “Where the hell did they come from?”

“The Milkway?”

Rodney was about reply with a carefully worded retort, one designed not to antagonise the Barbarian when the rapid fire skitter of returning Replicators had him dropping to the floor as Ronon and Winchester opened fire.

The Replicators poured through the hole, but Dean moved over to pin them in a crossfire with Ronon and the hail of gunfire filled the room with smoke and the sound of falling shell casings. McKay hunched over and hoped the next thing he felt wasn’t a Replicator ripping off his face, feeling he like was in that scene in the Matrix. Ronon’s M4 did not have limitless ammo, but they timed their reloads to cover each other and McKay prayed the noise would just end.

Eventually, it did, and he poked his head up to see a grim faced, or at least half of his face grim, the other bruised and ugly, Sheppard in the hall outside. The hole in the door was a lot bigger and McKay could see that Sheppard had on a tac vest and crap load of ammo, and several overly excited Marines behind him.

“You ok?” he yelled.

McKay nodded and Ronon grinned, evilly. “Come on, they’re trying to get to the Tower. We need to keep them in this building,” Sheppard barked.

McKay gave his precious laptop to Zelenka, impressed upon him the importance of keeping it safe over his own life with one firm look and ran over to get his own M4 from a Marine. Resupplying quickly, Sheppard shot a look at Ronon and Dean and said gruffly, “You head up to the overpass connecting the buildings and hold the line there with Winchester. Don’t let them through, Chewy.”

Ronon nodded and ran off with Winchester. Rodney, tac vest on, M4 in hand took a second to catch John’s gaze and quipped, “Really? Arming the Empath who may or may not be on our side?”

Sheppard sighed, “He’s with us. And we need every able body. Lorne’s checking on the prisoners but with the fritzing comm., this and well... everything, I have a very bad feeling.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that!”

In the quiet of the shell-shocked lab, Zelenka watched McKay run off, still arguing with Sheppard. Putting McKay’s laptop down with less care than Rodney would have liked, Radek picked up a chair, opened his laptop and got to work.

There was a comm. to unfritz and Replicators to counter. Picking up a broken replicator block, Radek began scanning for their frequency, even as he worked on the comm. Not everyone had to run off like Rambo to save the day.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

This City rocked. It was like his top five sci fi movies all rolled into one and he had an M4. He was so moving in.

Ronon’s whistle-stop tour of Atlantis, and that never got less crazy, had been interrupted by screaming scientists. Following orders came natural in a crisis and the appeal of weapons was appealing... so Ronon and Dean had been close enough to the armoury to be sent out in the first wave of backup, and the number of armed civilians shooting at space robot bugs was utterly surreal. Throw in the trigger happy Marines and he and Ronon had to go ‘look’ for bugs of their own.

Luckily McKay had squealed over the comm. and they had gone running. Ronon’s explanation was typically brief. Robots. Bad. Shoot them. Sheppard’s orders over the broken, static comm. had been slightly less cryptic but the comm. had sounded a lot like an EMF reader on the trail of the mother of all poltergeists, so wasn’t all that helpful.

The run up to the connecting overhang wasn’t far, but between the tac vest, bruises and cracked ribs, Dean was hurting. But the sweet surge of blessed adrenalin, of a fight with guns and friggin space bug robots was more than enough to tide him over. The overwhelming atmosphere of controlled panic, determined adrenalin and fear was dizzying, but Dean did what came naturally. He tamped down the fear, encouraged confidence, and steadied nerves. Folks who ran past Ronon and Dean on their way to safety all left feeling a little calmer, more determined. Marine’s heading into the warzone perked up with confidence and certainity.

The odd errant metal bug or two kept Dean and Ronon entertained as they covered the corridor, taking turns to blow the creepy things up. Teyla soon joined them, her hair wild and undone, tac vest tight. “The comms are down,” she gasped breathlessly and they both nodded.

Her explanation was a little more detailed. “These robots were a menace to the Asgard galaxy. SG1 assisted Thor in destroying them before they conquered your home galaxy. But a year ago, maybe longer, it emerged that the IOA had kept some for study.” Teyla’s explanation may have been more detailed but it didn’t make a lot of sense. Thor? Seriously?

The city wide channel suddenly boomed into life and an accented voice babbled loudly, “Jamming signal is coming from Replicators. Replicators themselves have no AI. I repeat, no AI!”

Dean looked at Ronon, who looked at Teyla, who rolled her eyes. “They are not sentient, or intelligent. What else that means...”

The little sounding but now booming voice was back. “Comms are momentarily up. Colonel Sheppard needs everyone to check...”

Another voice, deeper, more stressed, sounding like the man speaking was running, interrupted over the City-wide. “Lorne here. Trust prisoners have escaped. Replicators took out the guards and cells. Heading for Gate Room.”

Ronon took off, Teyla close behind, yelling at Dean as she did, “We are closer. Come!” Dean needed no second invitation, taking off at a punishing run, ignoring the scream of his chest and lungs. Absently he _sent_ out a feeler towards the Infirmary and reassured himself that Taylor and Hughes were still there. They were, their unconscious, comatose minds unresponsive. Dean pushed on, just making the door as they stepped into a transporter.

They emerged within seconds into a firefight. Ducking for cover, Dean spotted the distinctive uniforms of the mercenaries, and the smooth bald head of Augusto. The Trust personnel had secured the entrance to the Gate Room, and were firing on the Marines in the proper and galleries with stolen stunners and P90s.

Teyla hissed over the sound of returning fire, “They are trapped. They cannot open the Gate without gaining the...”

The distinctive sound of the Gate activating stopped her cold, and she stared in amazed horror at the symbols lighting up on the Gate. “How?”

Ronon grunted, “Who cares. They are doing it. We need to stop them.”

The enveloping whoosh of space water was cover enough for the Trust mercenaries to storm the Gate Room, firing on the Marines and staff. Everyone else acted fast, running for the wormhole and diving through. Augusto, Russo, Messer, all of them ran into the portal, only the straggler mercs and odd scientist falling foul of the Marine’s answering volleys. But the damage was done. Most of the Trust people had escaped, leaving behind wounded or dead comrades, and massive damage in their wake. 

Over the PA, the accented excited voice exclaimed, “Got it!”

The screech of returning comm. feedback made even Dean wince and he didn’t have a radio. The flurry of answering voices and demands for information were cut short by Sheppard’s bark, “Clear the comms! Report, Gate Room.”

A stunned technician on the gallery stammered, “The Trust had a .. a.. bastardised Jumper DHD. They dialled out, Colonel. The Gate is still active.”

Sheppard sounded pissed, “Radek! The replicators are down, did you do that?”

“Yes, Colonel,” replied the voice sounding very pleased with himself. “They were not true Replicators, but were programmed. Ah... decoys only with goals to achieve.”

Distraction. It ran through everyone’s minds and then Ronon was running towards the still active Gate. “We gotta go after them.” The few Marines left in the Gate Room seemed keen, but hesitant and one of them tapped the comm., “Sir, Lieutenant Kim here. Permission to pursue escapees.”

“Do it, but just hold the Gate on the other side. Wait for us.”

Kim nodded at the order and the Marines checked weapons and were ready to go. Sheppard sounded liked he was running as he barked, “Ronon. Don’t do anything until I get there. Chuck! You sure it’s not a space gate or Wraith planet?”

Chuck, the technician from before nodded absently, his hands flying over the controls. “It’s a visited world, sir. Ancient ruins, no Wraith.”

“Go!”

Ronon did, the Marines close behind. Teyla barely smiled as Dean moved with her and no one else said anything and for the second time, Dean stepped through the Stargate.

_Man, I love this place._

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

In the aftermath of the Replicator attack as Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne ran to recapture the Trust people, Carson and Keller sent out teams of medical personnel to treat the wounded now that the panic was over.

The Marine Corporal and Private on guard duty in the holding cells were dead, as where three more Marines in the city, overwhelmed by Replicators and eviscerated. Civilian casualties were minor, mostly limited to science staff as they fled the sections of the Atlantis under attack.

As Major Teldy led the detail to double check that no Replicator had escaped or hid in a duct or storage space, she discovered the only civilian casualty. Dr Lars Vuuren’s body was sprawled cloe to his lab, ripped up by Replicators but there was no mistaking the gunshot to the head.

“Mr Woolsey, sir? We have a problem.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

[ Teaser ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13964.html#cutid1)    [Part 1](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/16636.html)  [Part 2](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/17387.html)   [Part 3](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19226.html)   [Part 4](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19859.html)    [Part 5](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/21147.html)   [Part 6](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/22848.html)   [Part 7](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24140.html)   [Part 8](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24712.html)    [Part 9](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25048.html)   [Epilogue](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)   
  
[ Background blurb ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13216.html#cutid1)

  



	8. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 8/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 8/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Chapter 8

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

The world on the other side of the wormhole was bathed in the dim gloom of twilight. Dean took a moment to take in the blooming stars overhead, the horizon off to the West red and pink from sunset. But the sight of unfamiliar stars, even now bright and distinct, no city light or pollution to dim them was disconcerting, knowing it wasn’t even the Milky Way. 

Ronon was a dark silhouette a few feet away, staring out across flat landscape, Teyla beside him. There was an odd bump of a hill or rise, but otherwise the land was flat as far as the eye could see. But as Dean rotated to check the entire landscape, the scene behind the Gate was very different. Three massive statues which dwarfed the Gate loomed overhead. One looked like a deformed horse, mouth open and charging for a bite with huge canines. The middle one was a man poised to strike, a long heavy spear aimed straight for the platform before the Gate. The tip of the spear was only just above the rim of the Gate, dull and rusted. 

The last statue was headless and tilting to one side, but it was poised to attack as well, long limbs out stretched claws reaching out for blood. “We found its head in a market place on a world half way across the galaxy. Locals built these things during a hibernation, I guess, hoping they’d scare the Wraith off.”

Lieutenant Kim was at Dean’s side, staring up at the statues. Dean, eyes still on the headless statue said, “Did it work?”

Shaking his head, Kim mumbled, “No. Place was empty when we first came here.”

Dean nodded, and heard Ronon bark, “Tracks lead off behind the statues. Into the forest.”

Sure enough, a tangled, dense forest rose behind the statues, dark and seemingly impenetrable. “If I remember correctly, there is an old Ancient lab in that forest,” Teyla said, hands tight on her P90. Ronon came to join them on the platform and nodded, “Wraith had bombed it to rubble.”

“Guess the Trust don’t care... or know something we don’t.” Kim was looking at the forest, but Dean felt his attention, his curiosity, maybe considering Dean’s loyalty or deceit. Dean just _felt_ the immediate surrounds and said, “They knew which way to go.”

Ronon nodded, “Yeah, they ran straight into forest.”

The other Marines kept watch on the perimeter, while Dean, Kim, Teyla and Ronon waited on the platform. In the quiet, Dean wanted to make a lighthearted comment, but he couldn’t think of anything good to say, a little cautious with these strangers. Luckily Ronon glanced up and said, “Dawns in a few minutes. If Sheppard gets here now, we should still wait for it to get lighter.”

Dawn? Dean started at the definitely pinker, orange western horizon and frowned. Even though no one knew of his assumption and hadn’t said anything themselves, Dean felt embarrassed, then realised that they would feel that embarrassment, which only pissed him off and ...

“Ronon, dude, you sure?” Kim was staring at the horizon as well and Ronon shoved him, making him stumble a little. “Quit being a stupid Earthling!” But Kim was laughing and said, “Hey, Sergeant, you remember that world that had like five suns and absolutely no night? That was ... hot.”

Sergeant Jones on the perimeter was nodding, “Yeah, and people still lived there. Crazy people, but people.”

The Gate started to activate and the four of them hopped off the platform, Dean feeling less emotional and wishing he’d just get his barriers up to full strength. That was a few days away though, so he tried to pull on the old ‘hunter’ mask, shoving aside emotion to be dealt with later on. 

The whoosh of the Stargate lit the now ‘predawn’ landscape and the moment the wormhole stabilised, Sheppard, Lorne and two squads of Marines spilled out. They were armed to the teeth, prepared for anything, a couple of the Marines hefting along RPGs. Sheppard looked and felt angry and hurt. He wasn’t really in any condition to be running around, but Dean figured Lorne, the XO, had already tried to persuade his boss to stay behind. The Major felt pricklish and worried but all of the emotion was buried deep. Whether it was Sheppard or Lorne, or the Marines, everyone had on their own masks of professional, ready for action, facades leaving aside emotion for later. 

“Ronon?”

Ronon gave a brief outline of the situation, direction of the escapees and Sheppard signalled for everyone’s attention. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Dean but he said nothing as his men gathered. “Alright, we’ve come prepared for bear but I think the Trust have more than a few surprises and traps laid out for us. The fact that they came here means either it was on purpose and they have supplies or it was a lucky guess. Either way, I want everyone on their toes and cautious. Teams of four, standard search and cover pattern. Call in anything.”

There were nods and yes sirs all around and Lorne headed out with three Marines, the squads breaking up into fours. Sheppard pulled Dean aside, and hissed, “You’re here and frankly I don’t care right now. But don’t make me regret it.” Sheppard handed Dean a radio, radiating intense determination. 

Dean nodded, not even bothering to project reassurance. Sheppard barked at Kim and Jones, “You take Winchester, cover the rear. Relay back to Markus and Bergstorm at the Gate. Got it?”

Ronon drawled, “Where’s Mckay?” 

Sheppard shrugged, “Woolsey insisted he stay and ensure the Replicators were gone. I don’t know who was more offended, Radek or Rodney.”

Teyla smiled and said, “Radek,” even as Ronon said, “McKay.”

Kim and Jones weren’t entirely able to keep their spike of disappointment of being relegated to babysitting duty, and Dean kept his own emotions in check. Ready, Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla and the last Marine ran off. Lieutenant Kim smiled brightly, his true emotions far darker and said, “Ok, let’s go. Jones, take our six, Winchester behind me.”

Dean didn’t say anything, figuring there would be there opportunities aplenty to prove himself. The immediate future was blending with worries for the days to come. Part of him wanted to stay on Atlantis as long as possible, delay his return to Earth and if he could show his worth, preferably not just as a walking emotion barometer, but as a fighter, then maybe. The other part of him though wanted to go find Sam. It was a surprisingly small and quiet part. 

The walk/trot into the forest, down the middle of the search grid, was an exercise in endurance. Dean’s ribs were aching something fierce, making his breathing harsher than usual. By contrast, Jones and Kim were pictures of fitness and ease, their eyes never stopping, scanning the trees and undergrowth. The forest wasn’t as dense as it appeared once they were in, but the lightning dawn was barely making a difference in the gloom, the trees black and grim. 

By the time the first sounds of gunfire were heard, Dean’s face was bathed in sweat, and he knew Jones was looking at him with growing concern. The sky above though was less purple and more blue, but the spike of adrenalin from Kim and Jones only fuelled Dean’s. There was a burst of radio chatter in his ear, and Dean listened in intently.

Picking up the pace, but scanning the immediate area even more, Kim listened intently to the chatter. He said quietly, “First team spotted a ruined building, probably the lab and came under fire straight away.”

There was a spark of gunfire off to the right, bright blue flashes of stunner fire as well and Sheppard barked over the radio, “Go to stunners.”

Jones grumbled as he switched out to a Wraith stunner and Kim handed Dean one. The bulky, organic looking gun was something out of a low budget sci fi movie and Dean felt ridiculously happy to have one in hand. He really wanted to shoot something with it.

He got an opportunity all too soon.

From the cover of a dense clump of trees, two Trust operatives opened fire at them, and Jones ducked and shoved Dean to one side. But Dean compensated for the shove as he dived and still managed to peg one of them. And then, there was gunfire or rather stunner fire all around them. There were far more men than then fifteen or so people who had escaped from Atlantis. 

_ “Teyla’s been hit!” _

_ “She ok?” _

_ “Stunner.” _

_ “Area secure, sir.” _

Jones eventually stopped worrying about Dean, while Kim steadily relayed both their position and situation. Dean was crouched behind a tree, his burning ribs half forgotten, the stunner warm in his hands when there was a break in the fire fight around them. He been trading shot with the trees across from them. Jones doing the same next to him. The lull in fire meant someone had got a lucky shot. Lt. Kim checked the immediate area and signalled it was clear to move. Standing made his chest renew its desire to go lie down somewhere and have a beer with a morphine chaser, but Jones was radiating such surprised ‘impressed’ at him, that Dean walked on with practiced ‘I’m cool’ competence. 

The trees were looking less gloomy and more treelike, the dawn picking up pace. There was still gunfire ahead of them but more towards the ruins and Kim said quietly, “Seems we’ve picked off the scouts and look out posts. The Major says they’ve surrounded the building, but it’s big and they need back up.”

“Teyla, ok?” Dean asked, careful of where he put his feet.

Kim nodded, and Jones mumbled, “Any other causalities? Sounded like Greg got it.”

“One confirmed stun, Teyla. Two minor injuries, one of them Greg. But we don’t know how many people are in the ruins.”

The walk was tense, Jones covering their backs, walking backwards, half turned. They reached their first body, one of the men firing at them from the close knit trees. It was Dr Russo, and another mercenary lay a few feet away, both lax and unconscious. Jones kept watch, and Kim nodded for Dean to check Russo, while he headed for the mercenary.

Dr Russo was collapsed on his side, his zat inches from nerveless fingers. Scanning the area Dean checked with Jones who nodded an all clear. No hostiles in view. Dean kicked the zat away and knelt to check Russo’s pulse. With all the stunner fire and zat blasts it would be easy for someone to get hit twice. Or be faking it. Apparently twice meant dead.

Russo’s pulse was steady and stable, but Dean tipped him onto his back, checking for further weapons. As Russo flipped over there was a dart of movement, like a snake rising from cover and Dean lurched back in surprise. In the half light it looked like something long and grey was sliding out of Russo’s mouth and even as Dean raised his stunner to fire, finger already pressing down, the thing launched itself at him.

His ‘Shit!’ was all it needed, even as Kim and Jones shouted and ran over. The snake was damn fast, faster than Dean could close his mouth, and with his brain expecting a bite or a strike, it slipped into his open mouth, shoving its ways past teeth and tongue.

Instinct from years of drills kept his gun in hand but Dean still scrambled to grab the thing, close his mouth, all too late. Half expecting to feel it slide down his throat, the burst of pain knocked him flat, hands going limp as it started burrowing up and around his throat, eating into him. Belatedly Dean _‘felt’_ an evil malevolent presence. A personality, a mind – an alien mind and it was trying to _‘connect’_ with him. Only it was a hostile takeover. Dropping the physical battle, long lost, Dean focused on the mental one, for which he was well prepared.

Distantly he heard Jones shouting on the radio, his own squawking in his ear. But it was the snarling alien, the frigging alien in his head that was his focus. The attack wasn’t like a Kinetic, mostly because it was trying to push him aside, take over completely, replace him with itself. But after two years of fending off persistent and creative Kinetics, Dean’s walls had gone up automatically, diamond hard. The snake was in place physically, a dull ache in his spine, but mentally the battle was far from over. The only benefit of having Taylor and co in his head a few days ago was it gave him one more tool, one more technique. The snarl coming from the alien was a snarl of frustration and confusion as it bashed itself against his walls.

Dean could feel the thing curling around his spine, trying to leverage the pain of that sensation as a weapon. But for this as well, Dean was primed to resist, well experienced in pain. He shocked the thing back, a short sharp bite of his own, and physically and mentally it howled. He felt his body arch in response to both of their pain.

_ “Surrender! Resistance is futile!” _

Dean laughed and shocked it again. It sounded like one of those old movie villains, popmpous and monologue-ing but it quoting Trek made the picture even more ridiculous. Even as it screamed again, Dean followed it up with a quick one, two – two more shocks, minor but sharp. The snake tried to use pain again, nerves burning in response, but the surge through his system was weak, barely anything compared to a Kinetic attack.

Not waiting for it recover, Dean used his very limited kinesis, the leftover abilities of Kinetics, and squeezed the foreign body inside him, wrapped around his spine and into his brain. It felt soft and fragile, squishy. It screamed, using his own voice.

_ “You will die, human!” _

Dean answered with another squeeze and drawled, “You first, freak.” He hit it again, squeeze and shock and suddenly it wasn’t trying to take over, but was trying to escape. Tempted to kill it, Dean held on and it must have felt his intent because it really moved, wiggling out, letting control go, filling his throat, choking him. He felt the malice before the snake could act, the intent to maim, hurt, kill him as it left, so Dean took off the kid gloves, no longer worried about his own nerves and _pushed_.

It didn’t even scream, just collapsed, half free from its hold on his spine, and Dean _pushed_ with his limited ability. Rolling over, he coughed, gagged and then threw the thing up and out, the weirdest hurling experience in his life. Blinking, Dean stared at the twitching coils and scales, its massive head and jaws making his stomach genuinely queasy. How on earth had it found space in his body? Leaning back off of his hands and knees, Dean spat out a mass of blood and crap and looked up right into the barrels of Kim and Jones’ stunners.

They were bug eyed and serious, millimetres away from firing but Kim was also staring at the writhing mass of alien snake. Dean flicked a quick look too and fully planned on stomping the life out of it the moment he didn’t have guns pointed in his face. Standing, and staggering a little, light headed, Dean spat some more.

“Wait!” Jones cried, stunner pointing at his chest, and Dean cocked an eyebrow. Kim though was smiling, “Did you just seriously smack down a Goua’ld , in your head?”

“A what?” Dean quipped, foot twitching towards the snake. Kim shrugged and pointed ‘that thing’ and said, “Well, it’s not like we can question it without a host.” And that was all Dean needed and he crushed its head, grinding and twisting his heel. It was immensely satisfying.

“Dude, you rock!” Kim laughed. 

Dean smirked dryly, “Fan club much?”

The radio squawked and Sheppard’s voice barked over the gunfire in the background, “Sitrep!”

Kim tapped his earpiece and shouted, “Secure, sir.”

Sheppard cursed and there was a bark of returning fire before he yelled, “Just stun the damn thing and get over here. We’re down three men and need back up.”

Kim and Jones barked ‘yes, sirs’ and Dean looked down at the mess under his boot. Happily, he picked up his stunner and calmly stunned the dead alien. “Good to go?” he asked.

Jones laughed and Kim grinned, “Hell, yeah.” They ran off, and Dean didn’t think to mention his pounding headache and raw throat. He could feel sluggish bleeding down his throat and had to keep spitting out bloody salvia, his tongue coated in foul iron and alien slime. Nothing else felt wrong though, the headache familiar but unwelcome. Nice welcome wagon though, getting snaked first day out. 

Kim slowed as they reached the Atlantean line, Lorne waving them in. They took cover near a squad, thick trees their only cover. The Ancient lab wasn’t the best cover in the world, but its walls were high enough, and the gaps narrow enough for the Trust mercenaries to lay down suppressing fire. Two efforts to flank them and get into the building from the rear had failed, two unconscious Marines laying in the killing ground on the approach to the ruin. Sheppard on the right, Lorne on the left, them in the middle and a mini siege was in effect. 

“Winchester, you ok?” Sheppard sounded a little breathless over the radio, and Dean quietly tapped his own radio and said, “Fine. Just a headache.”

Sheppard snapped, “Headache my ass.“

Quiet fell over the area as the Trust stopped firing and Sheppard and Lorne talked tactics. It wasn’t going to be easy taking the ruins, short of lobbying in grenades or using the RPGs, but their opponents were from Earth and Sheppard wanted intel, not dead people.

In the fallen silence, Augusto’s whiny voice echoed, “Colonel Sheppard! I suggest you surrender. The odds are not in your favour. Allow us to leave and we will not kill you.”

The collected atmosphere of the Marines near him was one of poised action, keenness to attack, and cautious worry. But Dean figured he’d offer what insight he could anyway. He tapped the radio and hissed, for Sheppard, “Colonel. He’s lying. Feels real nervous, panicked.”

Sheppard grunted over the radio and hissed in return, “Anything else? They planning an attack?”

Feeling Kim and Jones’ eyes, and the Marines nearby, on him, Dean shook his head, “They’re worried too. Nothing planned, just fear and worry. But Augusto feels weird.”

Lorne queried this time, his voice stressed, deep, “Weird?”

Dean shrugged, “Like there’s two of him, one worried, one angry.” Dean had spent four weeks near the man, but generally not close enough to get a true read, especially considering the concerted attention of the Kinetics. But this felt new, felt... different. Two sets of emotions as it were. A suspicion dawned, the memory of something curling around his spine fresh.

Off radio, Dean hissed at Jones. “That snake thing... you seen one before?”

Jones nodded. “Goua’ld, from the Milk Way. Evil sobs, like to think they’re Gods. We handed them their asses a few years ago, but they’re still around. Apparently.”

Suspicions swirling, plans percolating, Dean listened as Sheppard discussion options with Lorne and waited for pause to say, “Colonel. I have an idea.”

Sheppard cursed and said, “What idea?”

Dean glanced at Kim and Jones, but said quietly, knowing everyone was listening in, “I think I can distract Augusto, maybe take him out. If you flank them at the same time...”

“Maybe... what are you going to do?” Lorne asked.

“Hurt him.”

Sheppard sighed, “Good. Ronon, Lorne, get ready. Go, Winchester.”

The spike of worry from Sheppard was powerful but Dean ignored it. He handed his stunner to Kim and closed his eyes. Pushing aside the concern from Jones, the careful hope from Kim, Dean focused on the dual presence of Augusto behind the ruined wall. 

Dean was acting on pure instinct, the one his Father had drilled into him for a decade. Act fast, act smart, punch hard. Augusto felt weird, and Russo had a snake in his head so it wasn’t too much of a reach to make a logical leap. _Reaching out_ , Dean _felt_ for the malevolent evil and found it. Augusto’s mind was smooth and filled with plans and numbers. The snake inside him felt old and twisted and full of pride. Augusto was in charge, talking, planning, but the snake was directing him like puppet, pushing him towards aggression, arrogance, over confidence. 

Dean _flexed_ his kinesis, paltry, weak and limited but the snake was soft and squishy. Had he been a Kinetic and trying this, Augusto’s head would have exploded in a mess of blood and bone. But Kinetics didn’t have the finesse for this, and Dean didn’t need a hammer here, just a scalpel. 

Augusto was full of bravado, as the dull thick mind of Nikolai pulsed with fear and anger next to him. The scientists in the ruin were rank with fear, the mercenaries nervous and twitchy with aggression. But the overriding emotion was anticipation. They were waiting for something. Stalling.

Taking a deep breath, Dean _sliced_ into the snake, and the Goua’ld, and Augusto screamed, the sound echoing through the forest. The spike of fear from the collected Trust people gave Dean an idea. Stepping out of cover, ignoring Jones’ shout and Sheppard’s bark in his ear, Dean made sure he could be seen as he _sliced_ again. Augusto’s scream echoing again through the air, startling birds into flight. Before anyone else could act, including the mercenaries, Dean shouted, “How’s that feel, Augusto? Like a knife in the head?”

Dean _squeezed_ and the Goua’ld screeched, the dual cry of pain echoing again. “Stop!” Augusto’s voice was desperate and Dean replied, “If I can do that to him, imagine what I’m going to do to the rest of you!”

The surge of guilt and fear was mind numbingly nauseating and before any of the Trust operatives could act, Dean yelled, “Surrender, or die... slowly.”

Over the radio, Ronon laughed but in the painted silence of anticipation Dean _felt_ Nikolai’s anger as Augusto writhed in pain. So Dean _squeezed_ again, and Augusto screamed, “We surrender, we surrender!”

Lorne and Sheppard didn’t need the opportunity twice and quickly stormed the ruins, the stunned mercenaries slow to act and swiftly disarmed. Dean stood in place, feeling a surge of guilt himself, but also vindictive pleasure. Jones was staring at him with mixed awe and fear. Lt. Kim had run off to secure the building.

“Dude.” Dean shrugged at Jones, and walked off towards where the small Medic was hovering over the injured. Teyla lay in stunned repose and Dean kinda wished she was awake, needing her calm amongst the surging emotion.

The Medic was tending to a Private with a slight graze and he barely looked up long enough to grunt, “She’ll be fine.” Sheppard’s voice over the radio confirmed everyone was secure. “Winchester, get in here now.”

Nodding at the Medic, ignoring Jones on his tail, Dean trotted over to the building. As Dean stepped through the broken arch, the small room inside was lit by artificial lights, a genuine hide out. Well stocked, lots of earth equipment, and his entrance tripled the level of fear from the remaining Trust operatives. Augusto was huddled on the floor, clutching his head.

The room was a little too crowded, but half of the Trust people were looking at a tall, thin man. He hadn’t been on Catastrophe and there were more unfamiliar faces. Sheppard was coming to the same conclusion and Dean said calmly, “They were waiting for reinforcements, I presume.”

The tall thin man felt worried, anxious, and kept on shooting looks at Augusto who was whimpering. Sheppard looked tired, and probably felt as ready for a good nap as Dean did, but he snapped, “Whose is coming? How many Trust missions are there in Pegasus?”

The thin man was still, silent, but everyone’s radios squealed and Bergstorm at the Gate shouted in, “Gate’s activating, sir!”

“Shit.”

Through the whimpers, a deeper, alien voice growled from Augusto, “Fools. You will die, slowly, for this.”

Augusto stood, his eyes flashing white, a gold device on his hand and Dean rolled his eyes and _pushed._ The alien shrieked, bitten off and the man collapsed. Sheppard though was marshalling his men. “Bergstorm, Markus take cover. Lorne, are the prisoners secure?”

The room was emptier now but the situation hardly any better. Sheppard deployed his men in the same positions the Trust mercenaries had been in moments before, and Ronon stunned Augusto for good measure. 

“Sir, the wormhole is established.”

Bergstorm sounded tense, his voice hushed. Sheppard leant against a wall, waiting. Dean resisted the urge to ‘calm’ everyone down, knowing the tension was needed. Sheppard hissed at him, “Any more Goua’ld?” Dean shook his head, “Just Augusto. And Russo.”

Sheppard sighed, and looked out the narrow, broken gap in the wall. “Shit.” Several long minutes of tense inaction passed. Ronon fidgeted at his section of the wall, Lorne muttering to himself off comm. Jones was sticking close to Dean, humming softly. Sheppard eventually hissed over the radio, “Bergstorm, anything?”

“Nothing, sir. No movement. Nothing on the LSD.”

“Think they’re waiting for a signal, or are cloaked?” Lorne muttered, pressed against the wall, eyes scanning the forest. True dawn was in full force, any cover burning off with the rising sun in the West. More minutes ticked by and then Bergstorm radioed in, “Gates closed, sir. Wormhole gone.”

A collective sigh of relief echoed but Sheppard hissed, “You sure nothing came through? Cloaked Jumper... ship, anything?”

“Positive, sir. Even when cloaked, the event horizon moves when something comes through... and nothing.”

“Check it out, be certain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sheppard remained leaning against the wall, but said to Lorne, “Looks like we lucked out, for now.”

Lorne nodded, “But there is a least one more group of Trust operatives in Pegasus, maybe more.”

“Yeah.”

But they had prisoners to question, again. Sighing, Sheppard straightened, looking pale. “Once Bergstorm clears it, let’s dial Atlantis, get more support.”

“And make sure that the Replicators are gone,” Lorne agreed. And then was a flurry of activity as Marines moved into action, as if released from a spell. Lorne was barking orders, and he and Lt. Kim started checking out the equipment the Trust had brought. Ronon disappeared to help the Marines secure the area, the Trust prisoners all moved into a relatively secure room.

Dean and Sheppard were sort of alone, Augusto and the Goua’ld inside him still lax on the floor. The thin man in charge of this Trust operation was with his men, wrists secured, silent and belligerent. Sheppard pulled a chair over and sat down with a groan. Dean remained standing, trying not to fidget, suddenly nervous. 

“You’re kinda scary, you know that?” Sheppard drawled, leaning back in the chair. His skin was pale underneath the bruises, a slight tremor in his hands. It was hard to believe that only yesterday he’d help rescue Dean, after getting his face beat to a pulp. 24 hours and everything was different, in the wind, up in the air.

Dean shrugged, trying not to project his nerves, and desperate need, and said slowly, “Yeah...”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re on our side... but the thing is... are you?”

The about face, the turn from the quiet promise from before, to protect, to this suspicion made Dean’s pulse race. He knew his position was precarious, that people feared Empaths, and this demonstration of his abilities had been ... way out there. The quiet hope that these people, these Atlanteans, would be different was curling up and dying inside him already.

Dean considered his response, not wanting to get defensive, not wanting to sound as angry and afraid as he was, desperate not to leak all of that, knowing he was failing. He knew how it looked, taking out aliens with his mind, threatening to off the entire group, the ringing fears of Galvaston in Sheppard’s thoughts. “I couldn’t really, you know.”

“What?” Sheppard said, a mass of calm and concern.

“Kill them.”

Sheppard looked at Augusto, his expression one of querulous, ‘oh really?’ Dean nodded, careful not to soothe Sheppard, careful to keep his emotions in check. “Yeah, the alien snake was a different thing though. That was psychic, sort of. That I could hurt.”

“So, you couldn’t reach into my head and kill me?” Sheppard reeked of scepticism, fear, worry.

Dean shook his head. 

“Not even a little?” The bite and tang of needing to protect, as if Dean was a problem, a danger, fell off Sheppard like a stream.

Dean sighed, “Not even a little. Even Kinetics are hard without a connection. And that snake just needed a nudge, a squeeze. It was pretty fragile. I’m not a killer.”

Sheppard’s look was one of disbelief and he was shaking his head, “My first impression was that you needed help but were dangerous. And you seemed a decent guy.”

“But?” Dean sighed. Ronon was a looming presence behind him, listening in, having snuck back in at some point. Everywhere else there was bustle and purpose, the day now light and warm. Here though, interrogation, suspicion. Fear. Teyla’s calm absence a real downer. 

“No buts... just... cautious optimism?”

Caught off guard, Dean stammered, “What?” 

Sheppard stood slowly, a small smile on his face, “Well, I just threatened you, questioned your loyalty and gave you ample opportunity to manipulate me. And.... nothing.” The emotions rolling off Sheppard were different, clear, positive.

Confused, but figuring Sheppard had been testing him and not liking that on bit, Dean pursed his lips, angry. Sheppard though continued on regardless, “You took out the main player and ended the fight without firing a shot. And I’ve had enough weird things poking around my mind, trying to get me to do something so I figured I’d know if you were trying to manipulate me, and you didn’t try.” 

Dean didn’t respond and the Colonel said, “You’re an enigma, Winchester. But you ran to help when you could have hid. And you do genuinely seem like a nice guy.”

Swallowing the rise of emotion, so twisted and caught up in the mix of fear and hope, so desperate to be seen for himself, to be treated like a man, Dean just nodded, unable to speak. Sheppard continued like he couldn’t feel that confusion, and smiled, “I’ve got snakeheads in my galaxy and moles in my City and I desperately need Carson’s good drugs, but shit if I’m not impressed and pleased as hell that you’re with us.”

Forcing the roll of his eyes, refusing to feel over emotional, Dean growled, “If this is turning into a chick flick moment, I’m out of here.” The about turn, back to calm reassurance and positive emotion was confusing, but Dean went with the flow.

Ronon laughed, and slapped Dean on the back, “Sheppard’s more afraid of emotion than you are.”

Sheppard just smiled, shrugging minutely and he said, “Dean, you are one screwed up guy with probably more issues than Playboy, but hell if I don’t want to keep you.”

Dean laughed, “You serious?” Hating how needy that sounded, how desperate, Dean couldn’t take it back.

Sheppard closed the distance between them, open at last, smirking a little, “Only if you want.” And he walked off, shouting for Lorne, wanting to know who had painkillers. Ronon hovered as much as an overgrown guy with dreads could. The swirling mass of need and want and fear and worry wasn’t helping, and Dean did what he had once done so well. He buried it, shoved it away, where Sam and love and disappointments were buried and turned to Ronon. “What next?”

“Boring stuff. Wanna go shoot stuff?’

“Hell, yeah!”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

[ Teaser ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13964.html#cutid1)    [Part 1](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/16636.html)  [Part 2](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/17387.html)   [Part 3](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19226.html)   [Part 4](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/19859.html)    [Part 5](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/21147.html)   [Part 6](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/22848.html)   [Part 7](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24140.html)   [Part 8](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/24712.html)    [Part 9](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25048.html)   [Epilogue](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)   
  
[ Background blurb ](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/13216.html#cutid1)

AN: This chapter is dedicated to Lembas7, whose awesome fic [Signs and Warnings](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3707267/1/Signs_and_Warnings) and WIP [Rearview](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3848436/1/Rearview) inspired in part this chapter. Or at the very least made me want to read more SG/SPN fics with Goua'ld and I keep on hoping that one day she’ll finish her WIP.  J

  



	9. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 9/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 9/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons)

Chapter 9

-.-. .- -. / .. / ... - .- -.-- ..--..

When Teyla awoke, she was in the Infirmary and it took her awhile to recall the events leading up to this most recent visit. There had been a man behind a tree who had stepped out and opened fire and then... nothing.

Now though, the infirmary was bustling with activity and Jennifer ran past her, paused and said, “Oh, good, you’re awake. Be right with you.”

Presumably the mission to retrieve the escapees had been a success but such an assumption was dangerous, so Teyla lay quietly and watched her friends and colleagues. It seemed that there were very few injuries to Atlantis personnel but there were several strangers with hovering Marine guards in need of medical attention. Her radio was gone, but the general mood was upbeat, bar the sour expressions of the Trust people.

The bald man from Catastrophe, Augusto was laying in repose on a gurney, arms and feet restrained. Sheppard was nowhere to be seen, but he no doubt had much to do with this incursion and breach of security. McKay was bustling around, getting in the way, trailing Keller nagging her for something. Ronon was slouched against a wall, keeping Dean company.

Winchester looked odd in the heavy assault apparel. At one moment he seemed calm and competent, a perfect fit into military life. And in the next, he looked small and frail, lost. He was kicking his feet like an errant child in trouble, but he seemed calm enough even with the distance between them. 

Teyla slowly, carefully got up, woozy from the after effects of the stunner and made her way over to Ronon and Dean. Ronon spotted her, and smiled and when Dean did so as well, his smile was blinding.

“You’re ok.”

Teyla cautiously clambered up onto the gurney with him, pressing her shoulder into his. “Yes. You?”

He shrugged, going for the same ‘don’t worry about me’ Sheppard tried so often. “No worse than before.”

“You had a snake in your head.”

Teyla stared at Ronon and then Dean, who looked bashful. “There was a Goua’ld?”

“Two,” Ronon growled. Ah, Sheppard would no doubt be very busy and very stressed. As would Woolsey. 

“So you are here to be checked out?” Teyla prodded Dean again and he nodded. “Yeah, make sure it didn’t scramble my brains any more than they are already.”

Teyla studied Dean with deep intent and he blushed a little. “You are taking all of ‘this’ very well.” She incorporated the whole of Atlantis, aliens, space ships and spies in the ‘this’. Dean looked down at his feet and paused before replying, not really meeting her gaze.“In all honesty, still not the weirdest day in my life. It’s up there on the weirdo meter, but not the top slot.”

Sharing a look with Ronon was that pure interest, Teyla smiled, “I am curious as to what would be ‘weirder’ than today for you.”

Dean just smiled. And Carson came over and the moment was lost. Teyla though made a careful note to question him again. Soon.

Carson was all business, looking a little stressed but his personable manner did not diminish at all. “Well, lad. You’ve been here all of two days and already visited the Infirmary twice. Not the best start, I fear.”

Dean shrugged and Ronon interjected, “He had a snake in his head.”

Winchester rolled his eyes and Teyla smiled, while Carson nodded, “Aye, I know. Right then, Dean, off to the scanner with you. Let’s check out that noggin of yours.”

Dean clambered off the gurney and followed Carson who was still chatting away animatedly and Ronon took his place on the gurney. Teyla stretched and arched her back, mindful of the tension from the stun and said quietly, “He is a peculiar person.”

“Interesting though.”

To this Teyla nodded and smiled at Ronon, “Yes, but perhaps you should not be dragging him into firefights on his first day, Ronon.”

Ronon, who was so often quiet and non communicative, even now, shrugged again but said as quietly, “Sometimes you just need to shoot something. Or punch someone.” 

“Or both?” Teyla smiled and Ronon nodded. 

“Or both.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

“How is your head?”

Dean looked up from the bed under the scanner and murmured, “Fine.”

Carson didn’t turn around from the scanner reader but huffed loudly, “And by fine you mean killing you. That Goua’ld did quite the number on your nervous system.”

The sigh from the general direction of the scanner had Beckett turning around and ambling over to his patient. “Its handy this scanner, cuts through all the crap ‘I’m fines’. But there doesn’t appear to be anything permanent, you will just have to take things easy.”

Dean sat up slowly, plucking at the soft t-shirt, grimacing at the stickiness and grime. “So I can go?”

“You have an urgent meeting or something? Sit awhile...”

The mixed feelings of concern and worry were muted but still there and Beckett smiled gently, “Just a wee chat, Dean. Nothing serious.” 

There was no response but Winchester stayed put and let Beckett help him with the shirt, exposing the bandages around his ribs, the purpling and yellowing bruises. Carson gently continued his examination, refusing to let any reaction show to the sharp pins and needles sensation touching Dean gave you. It wasn’t as severe as before, so either he was on the mend, or his empathic barriers were improving, or both. 

Satisfied, Carson leant against the bed, and sighed, “I have some ... unpleasant news, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Alfred Taylor passed away this morning.”

The surge of anger and grief was intense, enough so that Carson gasped at the rush and then Dean was off the bed, backing away. “Shit!” 

Carson stayed where he was, going for calm, trying to regain his own emotions, whilst Dean struggled with his. The initial surge was tapering off, buried under a film of determined indifference. The guy’s hands were shaking, and trembling, and he very pointedly was not looking at Carson. 

“Hughes?”

Going for even calmer, less certain of Dean’s reaction, Carson replied, “Still in a coma. But he does not appear to be as ... severely injured.”

Dean was statue still, eyes gazing out of the window, arms wrapped around his chest, willing himself to be still no doubt. Carson let the silence stretch, the bustle of the infirmary outside white noise to the isolation and privacy of the scanner room. 

Eventually, Winchester sighed, “Guess I killed him afterall.”

“You were hoping you hadn’t?”

Dean’s entire frame shook with the chuff of derisive laughter, “No. I was hoping I had, mostly but at the same time terrified I had as well.” Carson sat up onto the bed, lowering his head a little due to the scanner and asked, “Because of what it meant?”

Nodding, Dean replied, “Yeah. That I could do that. And what T&E would do when they found out.” Beckett didn’t really have an answer for that, especially not for the worry and fear one could have of the real darkness and danger that lay within. “Did you intend to kill him?”

It took Dean several deep breathes before he shrugged, “Maybe. No.”

“From what I know and saw, you were hardly in a position to argue or defend yourself. They had abducted you,” Carson stated firmly, settling into the bed, wincing at the stiffness of the mattress. At this Dean snorted, still not looking at Carson, and muttered, “No real difference to a normal day, actually.”

With the lights dimmed for the scan still, the space between them seemed distant and deep, a gulf of ‘you have no idea, man’. Wondering if he should say anything at all and then deciding that maybe Dean needed to hear it, Carson sighed and said, “I know what it’s like to be in an untenable situation, to have no control or say over anything. To be waiting for rescue, and nothing coming.”

At that, Dean whirled around, anger sparking and he growled, “You know shit, Doc!” 

Matching ire with understanding, Beckett shook his head, “On the contrary lad, I know an awful lot. I even know what it’s like to be looked at with consideration and weight, people wondering about just how genuine you are. I am the clone of the very real, very dead Carson Beckett.”

Another conversation, another subject matter and Dean’s expression would have been comical, “Say what?”

“Aye lad, say what. True science fiction stuff this,” Carson smiled gently. Shaking his head, Dean snapped, “How? And why?”

“Long story involving people best forgotten but dinna change the fact that I’m not the person folks around here remember but I’m still me, the person they forgot about. So I think I kinda get what you might be feeling, just a bit.”

Dropping his arms, relaxing infinitesimally, Dean pursed his lips and sighed, “They found you didn’t they?”

Nodding, Carson replied, “Aye and we found you.”

Still distant, still isolated, Dean waved a hand at Carson, and said, “But you weren’t the cavalry I was hoping for.”

“And I didn’t expect to be the one everyone thought was dead. Take what you can get, lad. Might be the only luck you get.”

Dean seemed to be ruminating on that, eyes again anywhere but Carson, and Beckett chipped in again, “You play the cards you get dealt, Dean. There’s no use wondering and wishing for a better hand, all you can do is move forward.”

The look Dean sent his way was all non-verbal ‘move where?’ and Beckett shrugged, “There’s no use crying into your tea, wishing life was fair. I wish I remembered the two years the real Carson experienced on Atlantis and not the two years of hell I did have. I wish people wouldn’t look at me and think ‘You’re not him, not the real one.’ If wishes where horses, right?”

Dean snorted and drawled, “You got anymore useless clichés you want to drag out, Doc?”

Carson smiled, “No use crying over spilt milk? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

The small smile disappeared from Dean’s face and he shook his head, “I get what you’re saying Doc, I do.But it doesn’t change the fact that I killed Taylor. That the one guy who was supposed to come and find me and ... and save me, didn’t. And that ... I’m relying on the kindness of strangers here and that’s never worked out for me.”

For this though, Carson had a response and he stood and walked over to Dean and put a firm hand on his shoulder, never mind the prick of reciprocal pain, “You won’t find better strangers, lad. Give us a chance, ok?”

Outside in the Infirmary, McKay’s raucous laughter could be heard, Jennifer trying to get him to be quieter. Carson figured Dean could also see Ronon and Teyla, as they were at the right angle if they were where they had left them. Dean shrugged away from Carson’s hand and smirked, “Maybe.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Woolsey rubbed his aching temples with deep determination to rid himself of the blinding headache. Years of taking depositions and cross examining witnesses had left him with a keen affinity for deception, interrogation techniques and seeking for the truth. However practiced and skilled the opponent, Woolsey prided himself on being able to ferret out the truth eventually.

Right now though, he had a headache. The Trust operatives currently languishing in his holdings cells were skilled liars, disgruntled with life and society and yet still determined to serve their country and planet to the best of their underhanded ability. They were a confusing mix. For some it was loyalty that kept them silent and others it was pure belligerence for the ‘Man’ who had deprived them of the legitimacy they sought. Either way it would take far longer than he had time to garner any information that wasn’t insults and governmental conspiracy theories.

Miles Augusto and the Goua’ld were sedated and restrained and Woolsey had every intention of leaving their interrogation to the Tok’ra back in the Milky Way. Whatever the history, and however much the SGC may have broken the back of the Goua’ld’s hold on the Milk Way, those bright white eyes still freaked him out and if he didn’t have to deal with it, them, all the better. And they had at least one other team of Trust operatives loose in Pegasus. It was going to be a busy few weeks.

There was one other ‘person’ he had to deal with though. Someone who was late.

The knock on his door was Murphy’s Law at its weakest and most trite. And door wasn’t the right word either. Elizabeth’s office, as most people still referred to it even Woolsey at times, did not have a door. It had glass. Fortunately for Dean Winchester, a tap on the glass is as effective as a knock on wood and hopefully as lucky.

“Come in, please, Mr Winchester.”

Dean Winchester nodded and stepped into the general space of the office and Woolsey wished for a moment, yet again, that he did actually have a door as some conversations were best kept private. But it was also late, most the staff at dinner, the early late shift just starting.

“Have a seat.”

Dean Winchester had a seat.

Richard hesitated, wondering if he should take the seat next to Winchester or the one behind the desk. The man wasn’t an employee, nor a criminal, more a guest and guests... well. Woolsey sat in the chair next to Winchester and hmmmed softly.

“Dr. Beckett has confirmed that you are mending well, with no adverse effects from the attempted Goua’ld possession.”

A small brief smirk crossed Winchester’s face, perhaps at the reference to his ‘smack down’ as it was colloquially being referred to. It also appeared that Carson’s report on Winchester getting his abilities under control was correct as well as Woolsey wasn’t feeling any emotional dissonance from the Empath. 

In fact, the man looked positively cool, calm and collected to use the cliché, hardly bothered at all by the prospects of his immediate future. Perhaps the years of T&E control had undermined his free will. Disagreeing with that thought almost immediately, Woolsey leant back, steepled his fingers and said calmly, “You must be wondering about what happens next for you.”

Dean Winchester nodded. 

Richard paused for dramatic effect, those long ago court room days still fresh in his memory at times. “While you have not been officially briefed on the Stargate Programme, you can understand the inherent need for secrecy, yes?

“Sure, riots in the streets, panic at the disco.”

Richard nodded, sharing a small smile with Winchester, careful to keep his own emotions level. It wasn’t difficult to see the nerves, the tension in the muscles, the barest of flinches in his hands, the impulse to cross his arms. The man was nervous and that allowed Richard to feel more at ease. “Yet, I am sure there is a part of you that thinks maybe people should know, that they have a right to.”

And Dean’s answer surprised Woolsey. “Nah, sometimes it’s better when people don’t know the big dark scary secrets, the just how close they came to being alien slaves things. I get it.”

Wondering if there was an inherent desire or need to fit in, be ‘one’ with the unit, Woolsey mused, “Whatever our personal feelings though, the secrecy of the SGC and its programmes is of paramount importance.” 

Another pause for dramatic effect. Woolsey was slightly gratified to see that Winchester was even more nervous but it was hardly fair to draw this conversation out even further. “I cannot allow you to return to Earth, Mr Winchester.”

The charge of mixed relief and regret was immediate and Woolsey gave himself a small pat on the back. He’d been right then on the suspicion of desperate control, on walls not really entirely there. Winchester was trying and good news was enough to let him slip. Richard continued, “The majority of the Trust operatives will be returned to the Milky Way but to our Beta site for further interrogation. However, it has been decided that sending you back would be too much of a security risk.”

“T&E?”

“Yes, invariably they would have questions on your whereabouts, the whereabouts of the kidnappers and their own secrecy and privacy laws are ... robust. We don’t need anyone else poking around Cheyenne Mountain and whatever back story we created could be destroyed the first time a Kinetic tried to connect with you.”

Dean just smiled, unashamedly pleased.

“The IOA and SGC Command all agree that you will remain on Atlantis for now. What the long term future holds... is undetermined. Your assistance though in finding and tracking the other Trust team may be in needed though.”

“Sure.”

Woolsey picked up a small, thin manila folder and opened it and as Winchester saw the mug shot and file, the temperature in the room dropped to panic and fear. Briefly. Regaining control, Winchester shifted in his seat. 

Richard though did not look up, allowing a modicum of privacy. “As a former lawyer, I can see no legal way around your seven year sentence for failing to register as an Empath.”

The studded silence reeked of restrained nervousness. 

Taking a deep breath, letting some of his own emotions through, Woolsey sighed, “However, had I been so inclined to pursue criminal law and had been a District Attorney, the array of charges held here as aggravating are ...spurious at best.”

“Huh?”

Looking up and smiling, Woolsey said, “They’d have been thrown out of court as they stand. Agent Hendricksen would have had the devil of a time proving any of these charges with any degree of certainty.” 

Slight bemusement greeted Woolsey’s statement and Dean said, “I don’t want to poke a bear you’re not worried about, but seriously?”

Woolsey nodded, and continued to smile, lips thin and teeth bright, “It perhaps helps your case that two Federal Agents have insisted on letters of recommendation as it were, being placed on this file. Your file.”

Slight bemusement had devolved into genuine confusion and Woolsey happily continued, “An Agent A. Hotchner, of the BAU, maintains in his letter here that the criminal profile created on you was ill conceived and poorly constructed and shoe-horned to fit bizarre crimes. His letter and notes are extensive, Mr Winchester.”

“Hotch? Really?” The surprise was heartfelt and Winchester looked stunned as much as he radiated pleased.

“Also, an Agent Jethro Gibbs has a rather long letter in your file that is less clinical than Agent Hotchner’s but equally persuasive in his vouching for your instincts, professionalism and potential. He also says that the FBI’s case has, and I quote, ‘more holes than a fishnet stocking.’”

Dean didn’t say anything, he was slumped in the chair, blinking, a relieved smile on his face. “Mr Winchester, while these letters ease my mind, they were not the deciding factor. And while Earth no doubt holds much appeal to you, I feel fairly confident in saying that should you wish to remain here for the duration of your sentence, the justified one, we – I – would not be adverse.”

“You barely know me, Mr Woolsey.” Winchester was still slouched and lax but his face was serious, tone firm and Richard nodded. “Yes, true. But ... I find that Pegasus brings out the ... surprisingly accurate in people and well... what we have seen so far, we like. For now you have no choice in remaining, and could consider yourself a prisoner, but in effect, we are happy to have you.”

The huff of laughter was laced with disbelief, “You guys are like the weirdest club ever. Come on over, there’s death, danger and space vampires... why wouldn’t you want to stay?”

Woolsey laughed in reply, “Exactly. Why wouldn’t you?”

Dean leant forward, hand outstretched, “I’d say are you serious, but I know you are.”

Woolsey was pleased to realise his headache was gone as he shook the calloused hand of Dean Winchester, newest long term guest and oddity on Atlantis. 

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

Leaving Woolsey’s office, Dean made a beeline for a quiet, isolated, spot. It was fairly easy to find one when you needed to and could sense the stream of emotion and just pick the least emotional area.

The ideal corridor turned out to be one in the general direction of the infirmary, and a small alcove in the outer wall, looking out across the ocean was ideal. Elbows on knees, chin propped up on his hands, Dean looked out at the endless ocean and considered the past two days. Between sleeping for hours on end in the Infirmary, Ronon andTeyla’s detailed and thorough tour of Atlantis, with copious stops for food, his taking it easy had been fairly entertaining. With the Bosses, Sheppard and Co all busy with the Trust people and plans and whatever else went on in Atlantis, Dean had lost himself in the blur of sleep, food and new friends.

Mostly he’d also been avoiding thinking about Taylor and the sensation of his thoughts and sound of his screams, of the life he’d snuffed out. And the soft hiss of the respirator keeping Hughes alive. The question mark around the date of his return to earth had also been enough of a motivation to ignore it all, and live in the moment. Asking to stay had seemed too much like asking for trouble, reminding the Powers That Be that he did not belong. 

And any thought process around staying and wanting to stay and really kinda liking it on Atlantis had been soured by the very real worry about Sam. Where was he? Was he ok? 

The need to know if Sam was ok, was strong. But so was his anger at being ‘ignored’ and left to the mercies of T&E and Agent Andrews. Dean didn’t know if he wanted to find Sam and punch him, or just know that he was ok. What Dean was certain of though, was that had it been Sam in T&E custody, he would have checked, and broken Sam out if necessary. Hell, even if it hadn’t been. 

But now, Woolsey’s implied invitation and the enforced billion light years of distance weighed on him. Going home, going to Earth wasn’t an option, yet. And maybe Carson was right, maybe he should take what he had and make the best of it. And even if at the time, he’d failed to persuade Hotch and Gibbs to do anything more than complain, both Agents had done what they could. The letters had been a nice surprise though.

Wherever Sam was, Dean hoped he was ok, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. 

“There you are.”

Dean looked up at Ronon who closed the distance fast and the big guy growled, “We’re going to be late.”

“Huh?” Looking around, realising night had fallen, and feeling a little out of it, Dean let Ronon grab his arm and haul him away. “Sheppard’s saving us a seat.”

“For what?”

Ronon just grinned and frog marched him off. Going with the flow, because ‘what the hell’ he was here for now, Dean followed Ronon through the press of people heading towards the mess hall. A large screen had been set up, and the lights were dimmed and as Ronon dragged him over to Sheppard, Dean figured it was probably movie night or something.

Turned out he was right. 

And the reason Ronon was so keen to get there early was the hot cinnamon rolls and buttered popcorn. They were screening back to back Die Hard I and III. The mess hall had been turned into a drive in come theatre and Sheppard’s seat saving skills sucked. Sheppard was sprawled across several seats and seemed disinclined to move, so Dean ended up on the floor, leaning against a couch that had been dragged in from the rec room. 

Ronon had made his own space, moving everyone around him by sheer presence. McKay was tapping away on a laptop, ear phones in and Teyla was going to join them later, once Torren was down. 

It felt utterly surreal, sitting in a crowded room on an ancient alien city, on a planet in another galaxy, watching Bruce Willis curl his toes in the long pile carpet. Munching steadily through his second roll, Dean let it all wash over him, his own emotions and everyone elses and just let it be.

Sam would have to keep, for now.

Feeling a spike of interest, Dean turned slightly and caught the considering gaze of a blonde woman behind him. She was dressed in BDUs and was surrounded by a few other women, but her attention was on him and not the movie. Dean winked, and shifted, making space next to him.

Her smile was pretty damn inviting in return.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*

_ Everything friggin hurt, everything. From the back of his teeth to the soles of his feet. Drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Dean pulled futilely on the restraints in the prep chair less out of habit and more out of desperate need to just get away, away from the pain. _

_ Andrew’s presence on the edge of his awareness as a thorn and a knife, scratching away, itching and digging endlessly. The Tech, someone new this time, less inclined towards sympathy finally gave the nod, made the last note on his incredibly thick file.  _

_ But the Tech didn’t remove the electrodes, didn’t take the rubber mouthguard out, didn’t turn off the machines, and Dean yanked at the restraints, rocking the chair a little, but not enough. No, no, no, they were going to do more, they weren’t done and as tired and wrung out as he was, the surge of adrenaline, the spike of nauseating fear was huge, enough that the Tech stepped back, and Andrews stepped forward. _

_ That damn smile was in place, the one that Dean dreamed about slicing off his face over and over again. Cool, clammy hands on his already chilled and sweaty skin and Dean tried to find the ‘buzz’ to shock Andrews, enough juice to send him into a wall, but there was nothing there yet, everything still all over the place, picking up emotions and vibes from half a dozen people. _

_ Andrews’s steady stream of satisfaction and sick pleasure momentarily overwhelmed him, and Dean gagged against the rubber mouth guard, bit down hard and tried to block it out, tried to fend off the sea of emotions.  _

_ “Steady as she goes, Dean. Deep breathes.” _

_ Vision still blurry, sweat and tears still coating eyelashes and making everything look like it was underwater, let alone the screaming headache tearing through his brain, but Dean managed to send as much hate and fury at Andrews as he could. But being blown wide open, it was uncoordinated, and fairly general, but Andrews flinched nonetheless. _

_ “Getting to pack quite the punch it seems,” Andrews smirked, his hands still resting gently, but oh so possessively on Dean’s arm. Dean tried to shake him off, but between the restraint on his wrist and Andrew’s overly firm grip, there was no budging him.  _

_ At Andrews’ nod, the Tech loosened the straps on Dean’s neck and forehead, and then pulled out the mouthguard. Opening his mouth, feeling the pull of dried, cracked skin on his lips, Dean felt the sharp crack and taste of blood as his lips started to bleed again.  _

_ And he didn’t even need to look over at Andrews to know exactly what he was about to say. The Tech was dismissed with another nod, and once they were alone, Andrews’ smile moved from slimy, to chilling. _

_ “This could all be over, you know that, right? I haven’t fried that brain too hard and long, yet.” _

“Hey!”

A soft, warm hand was tapping his face and Dean blinked away the dream, opening blurry eyes to warm sunlight, and the smell of salty air. The solid presence of a body next to him, touching, near, was reassuring and Dean turned into the warmth.

“Hey, you with me?”

Nodding, chasing the images away, locking them away, Dean mumbled, “Yeah.”

Anne Teldy smiled at him in return and leant in for a kiss. Pulling away she said, “As awesome as last night was, I really don’t want to feel whatever nightmare that was. So... snap out of it.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled and he shifted, pulling her close, liking the emotions rolling off her. Teldy rolled her eyes but ran her hand over his chest, his finger skirting his ribs and stomach. “You ok?”

“Never better,” Dean smiled and Teldy laughed. “Well, I hate to break up the party, but I’m on duty in fifteen minutes so...”

“So?”

Twisting away, gently, Anne rolled up and out of bed, and began pulling on her underwear. “And I’m hoping this isn’t going to get awkward, Winchester.”

Leaning back, relishing the lingering warmth in the sheets, Dean shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “Nah. One time thing... I know.”

Grabbing her towel, Teldy shook her head, “Oh, no. I.... Look, the casual sexual encounters list is kinda short on Atlantis, especially for the handful of female officers. Its nerds or subordinates really and ... that doesn’t end well.”

Dean chuckled, turning on to his side, fingering the stubble on his chin. “You mean my odds of success are pretty high?” 

Laughing too, Anne threw a condom at him, “Winchester, you better stock up. You’re the light in the tunnel for a few of us and frankly, most of us just want the sex.”

“In that case I feel cheap and used.”

“Whatever! Now get up and out, I am going to be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Anne hurried into the bathroom and the shower turned on, Dean hunted for his briefs, a stupid smile on his face. Nightmare and worries about Sam aside, Dean had a sneaky suspicion he was going to enjoy his stay on Atlantis. 

A lot.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n

to be concluded in [chapter 10](http://tari-roo.livejournal.com/25219.html)

  



	10. Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 10/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 10/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG13 (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.

Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons). **Specific spoilers for Season 5 of SPN**

Prelim A/N: This fic is dedicated to Terry Pratchett. He’s not dead, and hasn’t stopped writing, but as he is suffering from Alzheimer’s, new Discworld stories are in limited supply. I read Unseen Academials whilst writing a lot of this story and I felt a keen love for Nutt.

So, Mr Pratchett. Thank you for Sam Vimes, who I have a crush on. Thank you for Carrot and Angua, who I hope will have puppies soon. Thank you for Luggage, Oook, CMOTD, Argh in many languages, Susan, Cohen and the Silver Horde and _I aten’t dead_. You have made me laugh out loud so many times with your foot notes alone. Thank you for Rule Number One, all caps dialogue, Spot, Ronnie Soak, NacMacFeegles and Lilacs. Live long and prosper, dude.

Chapter 10 - Epilogue

“Breathe in. Breathe out.”

“Stillness is essential.”

“No humming.”

“Or sighing.”

Dean shifted a little, his butt going numb, well aware of Teyla’s attention even if her eyes were closed. The room was bright and warm, full of sunlight yellows and golden browns. The stained glass window made everything fell very still and peaceful. Bu the room had the rank aftersmell of sweat and it was a bit distracting.

“Dean, please.”

Dean stopped tapping out the opening beats of Puppetmaster and sighed. Sitting crosslegged on a hard floor was not his idea of a good time on the best of days, let alone a one best spent outside.

“You wished to learn control, or rather regain it. I am trying to assist.” Teyla still had not turned around, her back stiff and disapproving, posture perfect and Dean fidgeted. “Well, Sheppard mentioned stick fighting...”

A beat of silence and Teyla sighed, “Carson would not approve and as much as I wouldn’t mind hitting you right now, another time perhaps.”

Dean grinned and tried to settle. The stick fighting thing sounded awesome and while meditating had never really been his thing, if it meant Teyla would be more amiable to teaching him, then he’d meditate his ass off.

Luckily Dean _felt_ Ronon coming, a sharp buzz of controlled aggression and excitement, because the big guy had cat feet and got a kick out of giving you a fright. Without opening his eyes, Dean heard Ronon stop at the door and _felt_ his amusement. “Got a lead on a Trust team. Sheppard’s heading out. You want to come?”

Dean was up so fast his besocked feet slid on the smooth floor a little. “Hell, yes.” Belatedly remembering Teyla, Dean slid to a stop, grabbing hold of Ronon as he did. “Teyla?”

“Go. I am still in need of calm and serenity.”

Smiling a little guiltily, Dean nodded, “Cool. Thanks. Later.” Ronon was staring at his socks, and gave Dean an unimpressed headshake to which Dean shrugged. “It was cold this morning.”

The implied ‘wuss’ was half-hearted as Ronon trotted off, heading towards the broom closet Dean now called his. His wardrobe was black BDUs and borrowed jeans. In fact, almost everything in his room was donated or borrowed, but it was still nice to have a space all his own.

“Meet you at the Gate. Stop by the armoury.”

Pulling on combat pants and a fresh black t-shirt, Dean grabbed his sunglasses and ran off. Sergeant Jones was at the armoury and gave Dean some grief over his choice of sidearm, but Dean insisted on the Colt 911. It wasn’t standard and Jones didn’t like it, but one tac vest, one P90 and one cowboy peashooter later, Dean was set.

“Later, man!”

Atlantis was all shades of blue and green. And with the blue, gray and black of the expedition uniforms, a glimpse of pale beige was eye catching. Legs pumping, not wanting to keep them waiting, Dean turned a corner and caught the flash of pale colour, stopped and turned. A tall, dark haired man in a trenchcoat was standing at the end of the corridor.

Dean blinked, but the man was still there and he instinctively _reached out_ , testing the man’s aura, wondering if he was a ghost. There was a flash of white, blinding light and Dean _felt_ purpose, mission, duty, honour and goodness. Staggering back, a headache sharp behind his eyes, Dean tightened his grip on the P90 but when his vision cleared the man was gone.

Ronon’s voice boomed down the corridor, “Winchester! You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your dreads on.”

Chalking the moment up to a possible Ancient encounter, weird ghost or alien spy, Dean made a note to mention it to Sheppard later. But right now he had an alien world to explore and that rocked on so many levels, not even weird trenchcoat people could ruin it.

“Winchester!”

“All right!”

Dean ran off.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n

Castiel reformed in a small park, startling several pigeons and a homeless man propped up on a bench. Momentarily discombobulated, Castiel waited for the physical world to settle, his long journey through the celestial plane quite tiring. The homeless man flapped at his disturbed newspapers and groused, “Hey, watch it, man!”

Blinking slowly, Castiel looked down, pondered on the appropriate response and said, “Apologies. Man.”

Settled on this plane and the vessel ready, Castiel accessed the celestial plane and dematerialised. Several papers blew off Zachariah’s desk as Castiel reappeared in his office. Zachariah instantly beamed, “Castiel, you’re back. Excellent.”

Turning around, Castiel nodded at Zachariah and replied, “Yes.” Zachariah stood and hurried around from behind his desk. His vessel’s suit was rumpled and ill fitting, but he radiated delight. “And, did you find him?” He looked ragged, tired even, as if he was getting very little sleep, which was incongruous to their natures.

“Yes.”

Zachariah’s smile was blinding as his aura exploded with happiness. “Wonderful. Where is he?”

“Safe.” Castiel stared nonplussed at Zachariah, not returning the smile, disliking the glee emanating from his brother.

The aura’s glow dimmed, slightly and Zachariah grinned, “And where is that exactly?”

Castiel turned to face Zachariah directly, and said firmly, “Dean Winchester is safe, Zachariah. That is all you need to know.”

The change in mood was abrupt and the stream of disapproval and anger sudden. “What?” Castiel did not move as Zachariah closed the distance between them and grabbed the lapels of his coat. “Where is he?” The vessels face was less smooth this close, more wrinkled and worn.

Meeting Zachariah’s anger heavy glare, Castiel paused as he considered his response, “I have been occupied these past years with many things, Zachariah, but this recent search for Dean Winchester has lead me to discover several disturbing facts. You promised to keep him safe. You have not.”

Instantly backing off, smoothing Castiel’s lapels, Zachariah buried his emotions and projected artificial calm, “Now, Castiel. You know the importance of my mission and ...”

Interrupting smoothly Castiel pressed his point, “Your definition of care leaves much to be desired. At present, Dean Winchester is safe and that is all you will ever know.”

A spike of irate fear rattled Zachariah’s projected calm and he snarled, “I was this close to getting him to say yes to Michael! This close.” He held up his hand, finger and thumb an inch apart. Castiel stared at his hand and said, “Our mission is to watch over him, not coerce agreement.”

“We stand on the precipice of the apocalypse and you have just lost our key weapon!” Zachariah threw up his hands, going slightly red in the face. In response the disturbed papers in the room fluttered about and even on this plane, one could glimpse the movement of wings.

Castiel stepped forward and Zachariah took a step back, overwhelmed by the torrent of anger from him. Anger was easy to find and Castiel tried to fight past his rising emotion, not wanting to match anger for anger. Contention between brothers was not conducive. So, as calmly as he could, Castiel said, “Hardly. The first seal is intact and while the demons may have Sam Winchester poised to break the final seal, it is immaterial as the first seal is secure and all the others.”

Shaking his head, wagging his finger at Castiel derisively, Zachariah hissed, “No, the first seal is lost! Out in the wind.”

“Dean Winchester is safe, and out of your hands.”

Genuinely red in the face and losing control, Zachariah glared fiercely and yelled, “Now, you listen, you mindless gormless worm, we need to be ready...”

Unimpressed with the insults, Castiel turned away and overrode him with, “For what? If you were not an Angel dedicated to the Most High, I would think you enjoyed tormenting the man, bringing him to the point of breaking.” As he finished Castiel met Zachariah’s faltering gaze head on, allowing far more of his wrath to show than was perhaps wise.

Zachariah stank of unease, his smile oily, instantly backing off, “I serve a higher purpose...”

A firm, certain shake of the head, just like the human’s did, Castiel snapped, “No. You serve Raphael’s machinations. Michael is agreed on action only if the first seal breaks. There is no righteous man in Hell. Dean Winchester is safe. Why do you persist in pursuing this course?”

Caught off guard, Zachariah flashed intense surprise and suspicion, “No righteous man in Hell? How can you be so sure?” He moved towards his desk, genuinely curious, wings rustling in agitation.

Castiel though remained silent, and stared solemnly at Zachariah, who in turn grinned and pointed again at Castiel like he’d been caught out. “So, your little garrison are the ones behind the attacks on crossroad demons. Interesting play.”

“We serve God’s will.”

Zachariah sat on his desk, arms folded, and snorted, “And how do you know it isn’t God’s will that we start the Apocalypse?”

“Faith.” On this Castiel was certain, unmovable.

Losing it again, displaying far more volatile emotions than a higher being should be subject to, Zachariah snarled, “Ignorant, blind fool! You are risking everything!” He shoved a whole pile of files off his desk, sending the papers flying.

Unmoved, and regaining his own calm, grateful for the knowledge his visit to the far end of Galaxy had given, Castiel mused, “Hardly. The first seal holds, the demons are at an impasse until it breaks and I have ensured Dean Winchester’s safety.”

Zachariah opened his mouth, no doubt to launch into yet another tirade but there was a knock on the door, and an urgent, “Agent Andrews, it’s an emergency.”

Zachariah turned to snarl at the door, face scarlet, hair wild and Castiel took the opportunity to leave, and dematerialised. Snarling in double anger now, Zachariah threw the door open and snapped, “What?” The man on the otherside paled visibly and stepped back. Stammering, he gulped, “Ah, three Kinetics downstairs, sir. They’re threatening to tear the room apart if their session is postponed again.”

Radiating enough ‘I will smite you’ to flatten a city, Zachariah growled, “Tell them to take a hike and be grateful we have an Empath available for them at all.” With that he slammed the door shut and punched a fist through the opposite wall. Glaring at the empty air where Castiel had been, Zachariah cursed. Storming over to the newly pinned up map of the world, he glared at the unhelpful piece of paper.

“Where in the hell are you?”

No answer appeared, as expected and Zachariah snarled, “This isn’t over, Dean, not by a long shot.”

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n

Sam was packing his duffle bag when Ruby stepped out of the bathroom, wearing one of Dean’s old shirts and her underwear. “Sam?”A billow of steam and sweet aromas followed her, curling her hair, making her skin glow.

Rather than look, Sam shoved a ball of shirts into the bag and said, “I am going to go check on Dean.” He was scanning the room, making sure he had everything, absently shoving more clothes in the bag as he did so.

Mock pout in place, Ruby flipped her hair off her back and sighed, “Sam, come on. You saw him just the other day.”

Sam shook his head, not looking at her, “And I should have checked on him, talked to him. Not just run away again.”

Rolling her eyes internally, Ruby whined, “We are this close to finding Lilith, Sam. This close.”

Another shake of his head, another refusal to look at her, like she was Medusa or something and he snapped, “The hell we are. We’ve been ‘this close’ for months and nothing. So either you have no clue what you’re doing, or you’re lying to me.” Sam straightened, shoulders back, bad packed.

“Tracking down a higher Demon is no cake walk, Sam. It takes time!” Ruby snarled back, crossing her arms.

Finally Sam met her gaze, his own laced with anger and worry, “Two years? Really? I think you’re stalling. I haven’t figured out why, but whatever. We’ve got... I’ve got time to check on my brother.” The air of defiance was new, daring and after months of hand holding and coaching, Ruby was a little surprised.

But now that he was looking at her, Ruby projected concern and worry too, “And what about your dirty little secret, Sam? You’re just going to freak him out.”

Stubborn lip, narrow eyes, little boy stamping his foot.  Sam Winchester all rolled into one and he snapped, “Don’t care. I’m going.”

Resisting the urge to snort, roll her eyes and laugh, Ruby settled for, “Yeah, you do care. You’ll chicken out.”

Sam picked up the keys to the Impala, stared at them for a moment and said, “I’m going. You coming?”

“No.” The word hung between them, suddenly heavy. And Ruby waited to see how it would play out.

Sam left without a word, and without looking back. The door slammed behind him and the Impala roared to life. Ruby leant against the doorjam and sighed, “Oh, you’ll be back, Sammy Boy. I can promise you that. You’ll be begging for me in no time.”

The sluggish pump of unnatural blood in her veins was certain of that. Flicking her long blond hair off her shoulder she sauntered back into the bathroom. Fries were definitely called for. And maybe a little release in the form of mayhem.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n

Sam gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his foot pressed down flat, the Impala eating up the asphalt. He had no idea where he was going other than Washington. He hadn’t felt the cool, soothing presence of his brother for two years, hadn’t felt whole and loved and cared for. Dean’s amulet was heavy on his neck, a weighted reminder, knocking against his chest.

As much as it hadn’t been his choice to separate, he had chosen to stay away and between Ruby’s mission and losing the pain of separation in that, Sam had carefully plugged up the gaping hole that was Dean. Now though, or rather, for the past month and a bit, something had felt off.

Sure, he had no idea where Dean was at the best of times, and their connection was good and severed, but his brother had been a steady beat in his heart and soul for a lifetime. And now something was wrong. It was like Dean was gone, or missing, or something. Maybe even dead. Because try as he could to ignore it, a residual connection forged from a lifetime of _Dean_ was poking him in the eye and saying, ‘Go find your brother, dumbass.’

So he was.

s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n

Fin!

Authors note:

Dear readers, I know that you have waited through two stories to get to this semi-resolution, so I thank you for your patience, reviews and interest and I truly truly hope this was worth the wait. And it isn’t over, not by a long shot but this immediate arc is complete.  I would really appreciate any and all feedback on this story, the overall story arc so far, and on my experiment in jumping fandoms. Whatever your thoughts, I’d love to hear them.

I had this story, especially chapter 4 and the last chapter with Cas and Sam, in mind even as I wrote Gibbs’s first meeting with Dean and I wanted to share it straight away even though I had a lot of story first.

 Yes, I know T&E are evil and Sam is blissfully unaware of what Dean has been through, but that’s part of the enjoyment I get out of this story because Dean has begun his journey to freedom, but there is still journey to be fought and perceptions to change and brothers to slap upside the head J

 I worried that I would lose a few readers through the non-resolution of Dean in T&E custody, until this story, and jumping fandoms to ones people who started with Unwanted might not know or like, but hey, enough of you have read until now, so I hope it worked (a little J)

SPN canon will remain a little flexible from here on, as I don’t intend to go the Apocalypse route at all but I hoped I answered all the ‘will Cas be in it?’ questions. And did you see the ‘Zachariah is Andrews’ coming? I hope not.

Instalment four and the fandom of its crossover will remain a mystery for now. But hang on, folks. It only gets hairier. And there is that conversation Dean needs to have with Sam. The long one.

 Thank you again for your encouragement and sticking through the ‘argh!’ and frustration and ‘I hate T&E’, the ‘where’s Sam?’. Trust me, your enthusiasm and comments only makes writing this easier. 

 Yes, that is a shameless plug for comments/reviews/quick notes of ‘write faster, you fool!’ J

  In fact, since this is usually where I insert my thanks to the lurkers (being a lurker myself), ~~I will instead offer you a bribe to delurk (no, I am not above that).~~

 ~~On offer is a prompt fic of your choice. You give me an outline of what you’d like and I’ll do my best to fill it.~~  
  
 All you have to do is comment and/or review and I’ll randomly select a winner.  J This goes for you consistent, steady, make my day folks, too.  Because you do make my day with every review.  
  
Congrats to [](http://greeniron.livejournal.com/profile)[**greeniron**](http://greeniron.livejournal.com/)  who wins the prompt offer! (as randomly selected by random.org) and lurkers who delurked? Thank you, thank you. Nice to hear from you :)

Thanks


End file.
